Welcome to the British Irish Quidditch League
by Brandon Taylor
Summary: EDITED:Itching to get back into the air after not playing Quidditch for nine years, Harry gets his chance when he gets wind of the British-Irish Quidditch League. He had winning ways at Hogwarts. Can he continue his winning ways as a professional player?
1. Introduction

"Welcome to the British-Irish Quidditch League"

November 2005. Seven years and six months after the demise of Lord Voldemort. Seven months after the birth of James Sirius Potter. Life is perfect for the three Potters—or, at least, as close to perfect as possible—except for one thing. Harry has not played Quidditch in nine years, and the last time he played, he lost the Hogwarts Inter-House Quidditch Cup to Ravenclaw in what they still talk about in Hogwarts as "the upset of the decade." Itching to get back in the air, he gets his chance when he gets wind of the British-Irish Quidditch League. He had winning ways at Hogwarts until that fatal game against Ravenclaw, when he failed to catch the Snitch. Can he regain his winning ways as a professional player?

A Storyline by Brandon Taylor

Based upon "Harry Potter" created by J.K. Rowling

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

**Dramatis Personae**

Harry Potter—"The Boy Who Lived."

Ginny Potter—Harry's wife.

Ron Weasley—Harry's best friend, and Ginny's brother.

Hermione Weasley—Ron's wife.

James Sirius Potter—Harry and Ginny's infant son.

Ministry of Magic officials.

Other characters as may be needed.

SETTING: Number twelve, Grimmauld Place; Ron's house; the Ministry of Magic; and other settings as may be needed.

**Preface**

Well, folks, this is it. My first-ever "Harry Potter" storyline.

Now, I know perfectly well I won't be able to throw together a plot like J.K. Rowling can—she being of the U.K. and I of the good old U.S. of A.—but I am determined to try my best.

Anyway, I've told you all you need to know about the story in its summary. So what if I'm a man of few words? Well, to tell truth, I won't be a man of few words as I write this story.

_**Author's notes:**_

1. To tell you the truth, I don't know exactly who works where in the Ministry of Magic, so I just threw some random names into random departments. (Some of the names, on the other hand, are names of actual characters in previous stories!)

2. In this one, Kingsley Shacklebolt is amazingly in his eighth year as Minister of Magic, but that's only because I wrote it so… there may well be a different Minister of Magic by this time.

3. I don't know exactly how many British-Irish Quidditch League Drafts have been conducted in history, so I just threw a random number out there—oh, say 397—so this, unless somebody can provide me with the correct number, is the 397th British-Irish Quidditch League Draft.

4. Every now and then you'll encounter an event where Harry and Ginny "went upstairs." Can you guess what they do up there? (Wink, wink.)

So…read and enjoy, folks!

**Dedication**

This storyline is dedicated to the one and only J.K. Rowling, who not only created Harry Potter and his magical universe, but who brought it all to life in my imagination, and inspired me to create a story in which Harry does what he loves most of all: play Quidditch.


	2. Our Story Begins

Our story begins in the sitting room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry was watching old Quidditch matches on a Muggle television, a gift from his best friend Ron, who got it from his father after he tinkered with it a bit. ("An absolutely fascinating device!" Mr. Weasley exulted. "How _would_ these Muggles live without it?")

"Harry, sweetie?" said Ginny as she entered.

"Yes, Ginny, my love?" Harry said.

"You're not watching old Quidditch games again, are you?"

"What? No! No, I'm not!" said Harry innocently.

But Ginny knew better. To Harry, apart from Ginny and James, Quidditch was the single greatest thing in the world, and he would watch an old Quidditch match whenever he could get away with it. She sat down next to Harry.

"You are one distracted man, Harry James Potter," she said.

"I can't help it, Ginny," Harry said. "I haven't played Quidditch in ages."

"Don't tell me," Ginny said. "You miss how much fun it is."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I miss being in the air looking for the Snitch while trying not to be killed by a pair of Bludgers."

"It must have been frustrating," said Ginny, "losing your last Hogwarts match to Ravenclaw."

"I was beat fair and square," said Harry, shrugging. "I try not to dwell on it."

"I know, I know, but still," said Ginny soothingly, and kissed his face, "you must really miss Quidditch a lot."

"I do," said Harry. "I miss it so much."

Ginny gave him a sad look. "Well, I wish there was something I could do to help."

She kissed him again and left him there in the sitting room. The Quidditch match ended and went to commercial.

"The three hundred and ninety-seventh British-Irish Quidditch League Draft!" the television said. "Live! December seventeenth and eighteenth, only on WWN Sports One!"

"Ginny!" Harry called.

"What is it, Harry?" Ginny replied.

"Where is my Firebolt?"

"I put it away!"

"Where?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"I need it!"

"For what?"

"I need to get to the Ministry of Magic to sign up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft!"

"You might try Sirius' old bedroom!"

"Thanks!" said Harry, and he went upstairs to Sirius' bedroom, where he found his old Firebolt lying on the bed. "Hello, old friend," he said to his broom. "Ready to get back into the air?"

He was just coming back into the sitting room when he heard a tremendous CRACK.

"OUCH!" said a familiar voice.

"Ron!_"_ said Harry incredulously.

"Harry!" said Ron, and ran to embrace Harry as he replaced Ron's finger with a wave of his wand (Ron had Splinched himself yet again). "Good to see you, mate, good to see you. Where's Ginny?"

"You might try the kitchen," Harry said just as Ginny entered.

"Ron!" Ginny said excitedly.

"I stand corrected," said Harry as Ron and Ginny embraced.

"Harry," said Ron, "what are you doing with your Firebolt?"

"I'm going to the Ministry of Magic," said Harry. "I need to sign up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft in a month."

"Oh that's always exciting," said Ron. "Mind if I come with you? I've still got my Cleansweep."

"Sure," said Harry, "and Ginny can come too, if she wants."

"Ooh, yes, I'd love to," said Ginny.

"Perfect," Harry said. "I'll get Kreacher to look over the boys. Kreacher!"

There was another deafening CRACK as Kreacher the house-elf appeared.

"Master Harry," croaked Kreacher in his bullfrog's voice as he gave a low bow. "And Mistress Ginny and Ronald Weasley as well. An honor to serve you as ever."

"Kreacher," said Harry, "I need you to watch over James while we are away."

"Where are Master Harry, Mistress Ginny, and Ronald Weasley going?" Kreacher asked.

"We are going to the Ministry of Magic," said Harry. "We are going to sign up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft."

At the mention of the word "Quidditch," Kreacher's eyes lit up.

"Kreacher always loved Quidditch, Master Harry," he said with another bow. "Kreacher wishes Master Harry, Mistress Ginny, and Ronald Weasley the best of luck. Kreacher will take very good care of Young Master James, yes he will," he went on, now more to himself than to Harry, "or Kreacher will throw himself from the roof of—"

"That won't be necessary, Kreacher," said Harry quickly.

"Honestly, you're almost as bad as Dobby was," said Ron.

"Kreacher is honored to serve Master Harry Potter," said Kreacher as he bowed low again, "for Master Harry is a venerable protector of house-elves and an honorable defender of goblins, and Kreacher is honored to serve any witch or wizard who protects house-elves and defends goblins."

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry.

"Are we going to the Ministry or not?" demanded Ron indignantly. "I thought we were going to sign up for the draft!"

"Yes, yes, let's go, then," said Harry as he, Ron, and Ginny went outside and mounted their brooms.

"Why are we going on brooms?" said Ginny.

"I don't like Apparating, much," said Ron. "I keep Splinching myself."

Harry and Ginny laughed. The three of them kicked off and flew toward the Ministry of Magic.


	3. Department of Magical Games and Sports

Harry, Ginny, and Ron entered the Ministry of Magic and immediately encountered Mr. Weasley in the Atrium.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed at seeing him. "My dear boy… what a surprise… Do please explain… what's going on here?"

"We need to get to the Department of Magical Games and Sports," said Harry. "We need to sign up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft."

"Never mind us, Dad," said Ron. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm off duty," said Mr. Weasley. "Well, if you need the Department of Magical Games and Sports, it's one level up, you know."

"Thanks," said Harry. "Come on," he said to the others.

They eventually clambered into a lift, followed by several paper airplanes which Harry recognized immediately as Interdepartmental memos; a few others flew out. The golden grilles clanged shut and the lift jerked upward.

"Level seven," said a cool female voice, "Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office."

"This is us, guys," said Harry, and he, Ron, and Ginny walked out of the lift, accompanied by a few memos while a few more went past them the other way. They immediately made their way toward the British-Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, where a sign saying BRITISH-IRISH QUIDDITCH LEAGUE DRAFT—SIGN UP HERE welcomed them. Harry was the first to sign up and was greeted by a bored-looking wizard carrying a quill and a roll of parchment.

"Full name?" said the wizard in a voice that might have sounded as bored as his appearance.

"Harry James Potter," Harry said.

The wizard's eyes widened and moved instantaneously toward the scar on Harry's forehead, which Harry moved quickly to hide. A soppy-looking witch jabbed the wizard sharply in the side, and he cleared his throat.

"Position?" he asked as he wrote the name down.

"Seeker," Harry said.

"School?"

"Hogwarts."

"House?"

"Gryffindor."

"Broom, please," said the wizard when he had finished writing. Harry handed him his Firebolt. The wizard placed it onto a brass instrument that looked like a balance beam, which immediately began to vibrate and produce a narrow strip of parchment from a slit in a base. He tore the parchment off and read the writing upon it.

"Firebolt, prototype one," he said. "Top speed, 242 kilometers per hour. Original purchaser, Sirius Elias Black. Been in use eight years. Correct?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Mine," said the wizard, indicating the little slip of parchment, which he impaled on a small brass spike. "Yours," he continued, handing the Firebolt back to Harry. "Now if you will, please, Mr. Potter, the registration counter is the next one to your right."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Next!" the wizard called. Harry walked to the registration counter, and Ron stepped forward.

"Hello," said Harry to a gruff-looking wizard at the registration counter. "My name is Harry James Potter, and—"

"Oh, so you're the one," said the wizard sourly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but we just do not have a spot for—"

"What on earth are you doing?" said an aggressive-looking witch who was approaching the registration counter. "Get out of here, you! Go check the Atrium or something."

Harry, clearly nonplussed, frowned.

"I'm so sorry, dear," said the witch. "Frank is always denying people a chance to show themselves in battle in the air. He's always been a sort of a Quidditch purist. Me, I'm always in favor of some new hopefuls out to prove themselves. Now, Mr. Potter, what will it be?"

"I'm here to sign up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft," said Harry.

"Of course you are," said the witch. "You'll need to answer the questions on this form and place it neatly on this counter, and I'll give you further instructions afterward."

"Thank you," said Harry, and he exited with a roll of parchment and a quill and sat down at a waiting table just as Ron approached the registration counter. After ten minutes, Harry returned to the registration counter with his completed form and placed it on the counter.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," said the witch. "Now, I must ask you, do you authorize the Ministry of Magic to evaluate your Quidditch performance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

"I do," said Harry.

"Then please be advised," said the witch, "that we will indeed evaluate your performance in order to assist us in making a decision as to whether or not you will be eligible for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft. If you are selected for the draft, you will receive an owl within seven days. If you do not receive said owl in seven days, then you are not eligible for this year's Draft, and the Ministry of Magic sincerely apologizes for the inconvenience, and invites you to register for the next Draft. Do you understand?"

"I do," Harry said again.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," said the witch. "We take our leave of each other for the present."

And Harry left the registration counter and sat down at the waiting table, where he was joined shortly by Ron, followed by Ginny.

"All set, then?" said Harry.

"Let's go," said Ron, and they returned to the lift, followed by several Interdepartmental memos as others flew out. The golden grilles slammed shut, and the lift began to sink.

"Level eight," said the cool female voice, "Atrium."

And they walked out, followed by memos; others flew past them the other way (Harry thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, two memos colliding and continuing on their way, at which he failed to suppress a grin). They walked out of the Ministry of Magic and mounted their brooms.

"Where to next?" said Ginny.

"My place," said Ron. "Hermione will like to hear the news."

And they kicked off, bound for Ron and Hermione's place.


	4. Neglect and Teeth

"_Honestly!"_

Ron might have thought Hermione would have liked to hear the news that he, Harry, and Ginny had signed up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft. Never had he been so wrong in his life.

"The Quidditch Draft?" said Hermione angrily. "Oh, for heaven's _sake,_ Ron, is that all you ever think about these days? Your glory days playing as a Keeper?"

"Hermione, please!" said Ron.

"Don't bother, Ron," said Hermione. "I know when I'm not loved!"

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" asked Ron incredulously.

"Don't pretend!" Hermione shouted. "Ever since I married you, you've been feeling that it was all a mistake!"

"_What?"_ Ron snapped back. "Hermione, you know I would never—"

"No, Ron," said Hermione. "Do not talk to me. It's obvious that you don't love me."

"But I _do!"_ said Ron. "I _do_ love you!"

"Lies!" Hermione screamed, and broke into tears. "Lies! Lies!"

And she stormed out of the sitting room, still crying.

"What on _earth,"_ said Ginny, clearly puzzled, "was _that_ all about?"

"Search me," said Ron. "Whatever it was, I know she didn't like to hear the news."

There came a knock on the door.

"I'll get that," said Ron. "You two make yourselves at home."

And he left the sitting room to answer the door. A minute later, he re-entered, accompanied by Hagrid.

"Harry!" was Hagrid's first word upon seeing Harry. "An' Ginny too, o' course," he added with a wink at Ginny. "Where's Hermione?"

"Dunno," said Ron. "She seems upset."

"Ar, don' matter," said Hagrid matter-of-factly as he sat down. "Good to see yeh anyway. Oh there yeh are, Hermione!"

Hermione had re-entered the sitting room, her face still streaked with tears.

"Why're yeh cryin'?" Hagrid asked. "Wha's th' ma'er wi' yeh, eh?"

"It's R-R-Ron," said Hermione as she sat down by Hagrid. "I don't think he loves me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid gruffly. "Why would yeh think tha'? O' course he loves yeh! Righ', Ron?"

"Of course I do," said Ron.

"Why would yeh think he don' love yeh?" Hagrid wanted to know.

"B-b-because," sniffed Hermione, "all he ever thinks about is Quidditch, and his glory days as K-Keeper for G-G-Gryffindor!" And she burst into fresh tears.

"There, there, Hermione," said Hagrid, patting Hermione on the shoulder as Hermione sobbed in his chest. "Now Ron," he added, "tha's not a very nice thing ter do ter th' one yeh love, yeh know, neglectin' her like tha'."

"Neglecting her?" said Ron. "I haven't been neglecting her!"

"Ar, but she thinks yeh have," said Hagrid matter-of-factly. "Women're very easily upset, yeh know. Take Olympe, for example… yeh heard me call 'er half-giant, an' yeh heard her yell a' me for insultin' 'er. Big bones… I won' forget tha' one as long as I live, I won'."

"How's Grawp?" Harry asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Ar, he's fine," said Hagrid. "Olympe's been takin' good care o' him, actually. Migh' even meet a lady friend too, who knows, eh?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Ron. "I'm sorry I neglected you."

"N-n-not at all, Ron," said Hermione.

"Can you forgive me?" said Ron.

"Of course I can," said Hermione, wiping her eyes and face. Then they kissed for what might have seemed to them like an age.

"I knew I made the right choice," said Ron when they released one another at last.

"In what?" Hermione asked in a would-be playful voice.

"My wife," said Ron, and they kissed again.

"Ar, tha's be'er," said Hagrid. "Well, I'd best get back ter Hogwarts, or McGonagall'll have my neck. Take care, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny!"

"'Bye, Hagrid!" they all said.

"Right, then," said Ron. "You two take care of yourselves."

"You too," said Harry, and he and Ginny left the house, mounted their brooms, and kicked off, en route to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Master Harry, Mistress Ginny," said Kreacher with a low bow, "back home so soon, Kreacher might have expected them to stay longer. Did Master Harry and Mistress Ginny accomplish their aims at the Ministry of Magic?"

"We did, Kreacher," said Harry. "How is James?"

"Young Master James was bawling incessantly," Kreacher said. "Kreacher tried everything he knew how to do, Master, he changed his diaper, played with him, fed him warm milk…"

His eyes suddenly went wide, and he emitted a horrible, strangled gasp followed by a deafening scream.

"…_and Young Master James is still crying, Master, Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!"_

"Kreacher, no!" said Harry sharply as Kreacher made a lunge for a knife, and he wrestled with him until the elf felt he could no longer struggle. The elf fell limp at Harry's side.

"The nursery!" said Ginny, and she, Harry, and Kreacher hurried to the place where James was crying. Harry peered inside James' mouth and saw a tooth that looked like it was struggling to grow into his mouth.

"Ginny! _Ginny!"_ said Harry. "Look at this!"

Ginny knelt down next to Harry and shrieked excitedly.

"Oh, _look_ at it!" said Ginny. "It's James' first tooth!"

"First tooth?" said Kreacher. "Is this the reason for James' incessant bawling?"

"Yes, Kreacher," said Harry. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Kreacher is much honored to serve Master Harry," he said, "for Master Harry saved all the house-elves from the cruel reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—"

"Can't you call him Voldemort?" said Harry. "I mean, I _did_ kill him."

But Kreacher's eyes went wide again, and he sounded another tremendous scream.

"_Do not speak the name, Master Harry!"_ he yelled as he ran frantically around the house, as if searching for a sign that Lord Voldemort had somehow reawakened. _"Do not speak the name!"_

Once again, Harry wrestled with Kreacher until Kreacher fell limp at Harry's side once more.

"He's gone, Kreacher," said Harry. "He's gone and he's not coming back."

"Thank you, Master Harry… thank you," said Kreacher. "Kreacher still finds it difficult to speak the name of the Dark Lord, for Kreacher fears if Kreacher did, the Dark Lord would return…"


	5. Abysmal Performance

Harry was tending to a crying James, who had once again dirtied his diaper.

"That's disgusting, James!" he lamented as he threw this away. Harry had always preferred to change diapers like Muggles did, for he gloried in the non-magic of this and felt that every minute of suffering through horrible stenches and dirty diapers felt like a gift to the woman who, with his help, had produced this wonderful son. Besides, he felt that if he did this kind of thing with magic, he would feel less involved in the task. This was in direct contrast to Ron, who would use magic every chance he got (much to the exasperation of Hermione, who after all had been raised by Muggles). Ginny entered the nursery and saw Harry hard at work. She had to smile at what he was doing.

"Harry, my love?" said Ginny.

"What is it, Ginny, sweetheart?" Harry asked.

"Why do you always insist on changing diapers without magic?"

"Because," said Harry as he put a clean diaper on James, "I feel that every minute of horrible smells and dirty diapers feels like a gift to the woman I love."

"I knew I made the right choice," said Ginny with her familiar blazing look.

"In what?" Harry asked.

"My husband," Ginny replied.

She and Harry wrapped their arms around one another and kissed… Yes, this was surely heaven, the way she had her arms around him, and how he had his arms around her, and they were kissing one another as though they had been reunited after a long period of sadness… Nothing could be more beautiful than this moment… For that very moment, nothing and no one else existed. It was just Harry and Ginny, and the feeling of their kiss…

Finally they let go. Ginny looked at Harry. Harry looked at Ginny. They smiled.

"Harry," said Ginny lovingly.

"Ginny, my darling," said Harry.

They kissed again.…

And after a long time, or perhaps no time at all (it was very hard to be sure of things like time when these two were so deeply in love), something collided with the side of Harry's head.

"OUCH!" he yelled. Coming back to his senses, he saw an owl standing right in front of him with a letter from the Ministry of Magic. Just then, a second owl zoomed through a nearby window and landed in front of Ginny. This owl too had a letter from the Ministry.

"What do you think it is?" said Ginny.

"Dunno," said Harry. "I guess I'd better find out."

And he pulled his letter from the owl's beak and tore it open.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We thank you for signing up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft, which will take place on December seventeenth and eighteenth, two thousand and five. We have reviewed your Quidditch performance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a Seeker for Gryffindor House and are pleased to inform you that your eligibility for the Draft has been confirmed. You are to report to the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Games and Sports, British-Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, on December seventeenth at eleven a.m.

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,

Reg Cattermole

British-Irish Quidditch League Headquarters

_Ministry of Magic_

"I got in!" Harry and Ginny exclaimed in unison as the owls left. "You got in?" they both asked. "We got in!" they shouted simultaneously, and embraced one another excitedly.

"Wait a minute!" Harry shouted, and they broke apart. "What about Ron?"

"You don't suppose he got in, too?" said Ginny.

"Only one way to find out," said Harry, and they Disapparated.

Ron was feeling disconsolate when Harry and Ginny Apparated in their house. Hermione was sitting next to him with one arm around him.

"It'll be all right," said Hermione. "There's always another year."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Ron. "But _abysmal performance!_ They can't do that to me!"

"I know," said Hermione, "that does seem unnaturally harsh of them…"

"What's going on?" said Harry.

"Ron's just had his owl from the Ministry," said Hermione.

"I didn't make the draft, Harry!" Ron bawled and handed the letter to Harry. Harry and Ginny read the letter together.

Dear Mr. Weasley,

We thank you for signing up for the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft, which will take place on December seventeenth and eighteenth, two thousand and five. We have reviewed your Quidditch performance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a Keeper for Gryffindor House. We regret to inform you that, based on your performance that some Ministry of Magic officials have come to label "abysmal," you have been found not eligible to attend the Draft.

The British-Irish Quidditch League Headquarters advises you not to be discouraged. Although you have been initially found not eligible for the Draft, you are welcome to choose a follow-up course of action.

1. You may appeal the rejection.

2. You may hire an agent to assist you.

3. You may sign up for the next British-Irish Quidditch League Draft, which will take place on December sixteenth and seventeenth, two thousand and six.

If you choose to appeal the rejection, please find enclosed an Official British-Irish Quidditch League Rejection Appeal Form. No matter what your decision, we will expect your answer by return owl within three days of your receipt of this letter.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Reg Cattermole

British-Irish Quidditch League Headquarters

_Ministry of Magic_

"Don't give up yet!" said Ginny. "There's still a way you can get in!"

"No," said Ron. "Let's face it. I'm just not good enough for professional Quidditch."

"Cattermole," said Harry. _"Cattermole._ Why does that name ring a bell?"

"Let me see that," said Hermione, and she took the letter from Harry.

"Listen, Ron," said Harry, "bad luck, mate, but you'll get in next year."

"I don't know, Harry," said Ron. "I just don't think I'm good enough."

"Of _course!"_ Hermione shouted. "Harry, this is Reg Cattermole writing! He's one of the wizards we saved! He had a Muggle-born wife, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," said Harry.

"It's really all right, Ron," said Ginny. "We can still get you into the draft with the appeal form."

"Actually, now that you mention it," said Ron, "if it's all the same, I'd rather try my chances with an agent."

"Why?" asked Ginny.

"Dunno, really," said Ron, "but I think I'd have better luck trying to get in with an agent than by myself."

"That's not a bad idea," said Hermione. "I'll send Pigwidgeon to the Ministry to tell them we'll be back with an agent."

"I'll talk to Professor McGonagall," said Harry. "She'll be able to recommend an agent for you."

And with that, he stuck his head into Ron's fireplace, took a pinch of Floo powder, and dropped it onto the logs, which exploded instantaneously into flames of brilliant emerald-green.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, headmaster's office!" said Harry loudly and clearly.

And at once, his head sped through the fire, past neighboring grates, until it ended up in the fireplace of the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, where he saw a cat prowling around the desk as though it were waiting for something.

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked tentatively.

Immediately the cat turned into Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts.

"Merlin's beard, Potter, I am shocked to get your call!" she exclaimed upon seeing Harry's head in the fire. "Do please explain why you have contacted me at this hour?"

"It's about Ron, Professor," said Harry. "He's just had an owl from the Ministry of Magic saying that he was ineligible to participate in the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft. I need to know, do you know of any good Quidditch agents that can help him get in?"

"I shall have to think about that, Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "I must ask you to leave me in peace while I search for an agent. I shall contact you when I have found one."

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry. "I'll be—"

"I know where you'll be, Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "As the headmistress of Hogwarts School, it is my duty to know where people are when I contact them."

"I know that, Professor," said Harry, slightly embarrassed. "I'll see you at home."

Professor McGonagall bowed, and Harry took that to mean he was dismissed. He pulled his head out of the fire and found himself back in Ron's house, while the emerald fire flickered and died.

"We'd better be going back home," he said to Ginny.

"Kreacher wonders where Master Harry and Mistress Ginny have been," Kreacher said when Harry and Ginny Apparated back into the sitting room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. "Kreacher has taken the liberty of preparing the steak-and-kidney pie to which Master Harry is quite partial."

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry. "Any trouble with James?"

"No, sir," said Kreacher, "but that is of little importance. Where were Master Harry and Mistress Ginny off to, leaving poor Kreacher alone with Young Master James?"

"We were at Ron and Hermione's place," Ginny explained. "Ron didn't get into the Draft."

For a minute there was silence. Then Kreacher said, "Kreacher is sorry to hear that, Mistress Ginny. Kreacher had high hopes for Ronald Weasley."

"We haven't given up," said Harry. "I've just contacted Professor McGonagall and told her to find a Quidditch agent to help him get into the League."

"A wise decision, Master Harry," said Kreacher, bowing low. "Kreacher has not seen Quidditch in ages and would dearly love to see a game."

"Tell you what, Kreacher," Harry said. "The League plays its games on Saturdays. I can change your off day from Friday to Saturday, and you can come and see us play Quidditch. How do you like that?"

There was a pause as Kreacher considered this. Finally the elf said, "Kreacher would like that very much, Master Harry."


	6. The Agent

The fireplace erupted into emerald-green flames. Harry started and turned toward it, out of which emerged Professor McGonagall's head.

"Potter," it said.

"What is it, Professor?" Harry replied.

"I have found a suitable agent," said Professor McGonagall. "Oliver Wood will make a call on your place in a minute."

"Oliver Wood?" said Harry. "But I thought he was playing for Puddlemere United!"

"He was banished from the League among allegations of cheating," Professor McGonagall said, in answer to Harry's confusion. "He is now an agent assisting first-time professional players who have been denied, as well as seasoned players looking to extend their contracts or seek new ones with different teams. So, Potter, who do you think will play for?"

"Dunno," said Harry.

"From what I hear, the Chudley Cannons finished bottom of the table for five seasons in a row," said Professor McGonagall. "They're looking for a Seeker in the first round. Personally, I think that's quite unusual for a first-round choice, but obviously the owner doesn't think so. At any rate, Potter, Oliver Wood will be calling at your place to talk about Ron."

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry, and Professor McGonagall's head vanished from the fire just as Oliver Wood Apparated into the sitting room.

"Potter!" he said.

"_Wood?!"_ Harry said incredulously.

They drew each other into a bear hug. "So, how have you been?"

"Great," said Harry. "You?"

"I should be so lucky," Wood said sarcastically. "I haven't been the same since I got banished. Cheating! I have not cheated once in all my life as a Keeper. If you ask me, I could have sued the League for defamation of character!" He paused to calm himself down. "So, I hear the Boy Who Lived just got married to Ginny Weasley."

"Yeah," said Harry.

"Congratulations," said Wood. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the ceremony, but congratulations just the same. Actually, I heard the rumors on _Potterwatch_ and I wasn't sure if the rumors were true or not."

"Would you care to see for yourself?" Harry asked as Ginny walked in and showed Wood the ring.

"It's a very beautiful ring, Mrs. Potter," said Wood in appreciation. "I also heard you two have a boy."

"You'll get a lot of truth out of _Potterwatch,"_ said Harry. "Care to see the nursery?"

"Sorry, I can't," Wood said, "but I'm sure it's a beautiful one. Anyway, let's get down to business. From what I heard, your friend Ron Weasley just got turned away from the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft."

"Yes," said Harry, "and we need an agent—"

"Look no further, Potter," said Wood, "for you'll not find a better agent than I. Now, I hear agents usually get ten Galleons for helping players, but I have to charge a little more, seeing as I'm so good."

"What's your price?" Harry wanted to know.

"Twelve Galleons," said Wood, "and oh, say nine Sickles. And I'll need it up front."

"Done," said Harry, and he counted out his coins and handed them to Wood.

"Right, then, Potter," said Wood, "let's begin. Got your broom?"

"Right here," said Harry, and he produced his Firebolt. "Ginny, you stay with James."

"Are you sure you won't need me, Harry?" Ginny asked. "Because I know how lonely you might get."

There was a pause. For a moment nobody spoke. Then Harry whispered, "I'll be fine."

"I love you," said Ginny, "so much."

"I love you too," Harry said, and they kissed.

"Let's move, Potter, we have no time to waste," Wood said.

"Right," Harry said, and they went outside, mounted their brooms, and kicked off, bound for Ron and Hermione's place.

"Honestly, Ron, will you _please_ calm down?!" said Hermione in an exasperated voice.

"I _can't_ calm down, Hermione, don't you understand?" said Ron, who was flustered fit to burst. "If I've got any chance of making it to the Quidditch League, I have to make a good impression on the agent!"

"Oh for heaven's _sake,_ Ron—" Hermione began, but just then Harry entered the sitting room, accompanied by Oliver Wood.

"Evening, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," said Wood.

"Oh blimey," said Ron. "I don't know if I can go through with this."

"Oh stop it, Ron," said Hermione impatiently. "Wood's fair, he'll hear you out."

"But what if he doesn't?" said Ron. "Then what? I'll never play Quidditch again!"

Hermione rolled her eyes—sometimes there was just no getting through to Ron—but was spared when Wood spoke again.

"From what I hear, you were turned away from the Quidditch League Draft," he said.

"Yeah, that's right," said Ron. "What's it to you?"

"I'm here to help," said Wood. "Your friend Mr. Potter has hired me to hear your case."

"Right, then," said Ron, "that is… good, isn't it?"

"If I get you into the League, it is," said Wood. "I'm a very good agent."

"You see, Ron?" said Hermione. "He's probably the best agent there is!"

"I wouldn't say 'best,' Mrs. Weasley," Wood said, "but you can be assured that I am one of the better ones. Now, Mr. Weasley, we must be going. Got your broom?"

"Right here," said Ron, producing his Cleansweep Eleven.

"Then let's get going," said Wood, and he, Harry, and Ron went outside, mounted their brooms, and kicked off, bound for the Ministry of Magic once more.

"Actually, I'm in a spot of bother, Potter," said Wood as they arrived at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. "As I've told you, I've been banished among allegations of cheating, which I think are very ludicrous allegations indeed. I am actually quite a good Keeper, and if you ask me, I think the Ministry is trying to defame me of character. So if you could, Potter, I'd like your help in having my banishment overturned—after I get Ron in the League, of course. I'll gather evidence and send it to you so you can see for yourself."

"I'll see what I can do," said Harry, "but I must ask you not to expect much."

"Thank you, Potter," said Wood. "I knew I could count on you."

They entered the British-Irish Quidditch League Headquarters. Ron encountered a wizard in plus-fours who was looking over statistics. Ron cleared his throat, and the wizard faced him.

"Good evening," Ron said. "My name is Ronald Bilius Weasley, and—"

"I know who you are, Mr. Weasley," said the wizard. "I'm sorry, but I simply cannot admit you into the Draft."

"Is that so?" said Wood, coming forward.

"And just who the ruddy hell are you?" asked the other.

"My name is Oliver Wood," said Wood, showing his identification. "I am Mr. Weasley's agent."

"Agent?" said the wizard gruffly, blinking twice. "Nobody said anything to me about an agent."

"I think I'll take over from here," said the witch whom Ron had met at the registration counter. "Now, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Wood, what can I do for you?"

"My client, Mr. Weasley," said Wood, indicating Ron, "has just been turned away from the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft."

"Ah yes, I know," said the witch. _"His_ doing, I believe it was," she added, pointing at the wizard in plus-fours. "The vote to admit you was split down the middle, until _he_ cast the final dissenting vote. So what can I do for you?"

"I'm only saying," said Wood, "that if you turn this fine Quidditch Keeper away"—he indicated Ron as he said this—"you will be making a huge mistake. I was also on the panel that voted on whether or not he should be admitted into the Draft, and I believe I favored admission, if I remember correctly."

"As did I, Wood," said the witch, "yet here stands Weasley, turned away from the Draft because of a stupid mistake. As you know, then, since he has not been admitted into the Draft, there is no hope of reversing that decision," she continued, "but I can draft a one-year contract with any team willing to snap him up."

"Right, then," said Wood. "My client will accept no less than twenty thousand Galleons."

"I'm sorry, Wood," said the witch, "but as he is a rookie Keeper, I cannot negotiate for more than five thousand."

"In that case," said Wood, "we have a problem. I believe you are making a big mistake by taking him in for this low a price. If you are not willing to negotiate, then you are wasting my time."

"_Mister_ Wood," said the witch. "I am trying hard to be patient with you and your client. I am doing everything I can. But if you cannot accept what I offer you, then _you_ are wasting _my_ time. Now, I am prepared to raise him to six thousand Galleons."

"My friend," said Wood. "I see that you are an honest witch. You're so honest; in fact, that I'll tell you what I'm going to do: I'm going to lessen my price to seventeen thousand Galleons."

"I warn you," said the witch, "you are talking yourself out of a deal. I offer eight thousand Galleons, not a Knut more."

"Fifteen thousand Galleons!" Wood said quickly.

The witch did not answer.

"Fourteen thousand?"

"Eleven thousand," said the witch.

"All right, you thief, eleven thousand Galleons," Wood muttered.

"Done," said the witch.

"Wait a minute!" said Ron and Harry in unison.

"What about my signing bonus?" Ron said.

"Signing bonus to be negotiated with the team," said the witch.

"Now," said Wood, "you're talking."

"Excellent!" said the witch. "You should get an owl within two weeks once a team decides to sign you."

"Great!" Ron said excitedly. "I'm in the League!"

"You're in the League," Wood repeated.

"Well, that didn't take long," said Harry.

"No, it didn't," said Wood. "I expected the negotiation to be considerably longer. On the other hand, I didn't expect to negotiate with anybody as honest as she was."

"I've got to go back home!" said Ron. "I've got to tell Hermione I'm in the League!"

"You go on ahead," said Wood. "Harry and I need to talk a while."

Ron rushed into the lift, bound for the Atrium and out of the Ministry.

"Now, Potter," said Wood, "we need to talk about reversing my banishment. I've already collected some evidence, and I'd like you to look it over and see if I have a case."

"You don't have to worry about a thing," said Harry. "I'll enlist Professor McGonagall to help."

"Excellent," said Wood. "With McGonagall on my side, the Ministry will _have_ to overturn my banishment. Thanks a lot, Potter, I knew I could count on you."

Back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place...

"You're going to—what, sorry?" Ginny said, sure she had not heard Harry correctly.

"I'm going to work with Oliver Wood to have his banishment overturned," said Harry. "And if I can, I'm going to get Professor McGonagall on the case as well."

"This is… good, isn't it?" asked Ginny. "That makes four of us going to the League! Harry, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah…" said Harry as she kissed him.

"Oh Harry… you're so wonderful…"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry, and they went upstairs to their bedroom.


	7. The Appeal

"I'm sorry, Potter, but I'm afraid I simply cannot help you," said Professor McGonagall. "It is simply too busy here at Hogwarts."

"But Professor," said Harry, "you may be the only hope Wood has of having his banishment overturned! We need your help to do it!"

"On the other hand," said Professor McGonagall, "I _do_ suppose Hogwarts can do without me for a time. I'll put Professor Slughorn in charge of Hogwarts in my absence, and I shall call on your place as soon as I get to Hogsmeade."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry. "I mean it. You have no idea how much this means to Wood or me."

"That will be quite all, Potter," said Professor McGonagall with finality in her voice. Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace of the headmaster's office of Hogwarts and found himself back in number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Harry, love?" said Ginny.

"Yes, Ginny?" said Harry.

"Who were you talking to?" Ginny asked.

"Professor McGonagall," said Harry. "I had to get her on the case."

"Yes, of course you did," said Ginny. "Is she on?"

"Yes," said Harry. "She said Hogwarts could do without her for a time, and she put Professor Slughorn in charge."

"When can we expect her to arrive?" Ginny asked, but Harry's answer was deemed unnecessary when Professor McGonagall Apparated into the sitting room.

"You wished to see me, Potter?" she asked.

"Yes," said Harry. "I'll need you to take a look at some evidence that Wood sent to me."

So Harry and Professor McGonagall spent most of the morning looking over Wood's evidence.

"Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "this evidence is completely useless! We are trying to overturn Wood's banishment, not incriminate the real culprit! The way I see it, if we have any hope to overturn it, our best evidence is character witnesses."

"Who would you suggest?" Harry asked, turning off the television.

"You and I should suffice," said Professor McGonagall.

**POTTER, McGONAGALL TO REPRESENT WOOD  
TO OVERTURN BRITISH-IRISH QUIDDITCH LEAGUE BANISHMENT**

The ever-famous Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, 26, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are set to represent Oliver Wood, disgraced ex-Keeper for Puddlemere United turned Quidditch player agent, today in courtroom four in the Ministry of Magic.

Wood was previously banished from the British-Irish Quidditch League among allegations of cheating. Potter and McGonagall plan to present character witnesses to prove to the Department of Magical Games and Sports that Wood never cheated.

"It's outrageous," Potter said. "We feel that the Department is seriously abusing their power to banish players that we loyal Quidditch fans know are the best at their position. They're being overzealous in their efforts to make the game fair, and ruining Quidditch in the process."

"We cannot allow this sort of injustice to continue," said McGonagall. "If it does, Quidditch as we know it will become corrupt, and the game will lose many of its fans."

"I'm simply glad Potter and McGonagall are doing this for me," Wood said. "Potter told me he was itching to get back in the air, and I must say I know the feeling."

Other character witnesses considered include Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and George and Alicia Weasley.

"Appeal of the twenty-seventh of November," said the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, "into the banishment of ex-Keeper Oliver Wood of Puddlemere United, among allegations of cheating in Quidditch matches officially sanctioned by the British-Irish Quidditch League. Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic; Reg Cattermole, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports; Mafalda Hopkirk, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe: Darius Yaxley."

Oliver Wood was sitting in the chained chair in the center of the room. The chains did not bind him as it did to some others who sat in it.

"First character witness for the defense," said Harry, who was on Oliver Wood's left, "Harry James Potter."

"Second character witness," said Professor McGonagall on Wood's right, "Minerva McGonagall."

Kingsley nodded and continued: "This is an appeal to decide the overturning or upholding of the banishment of Oliver Wood from the British-Irish Quidditch League, among allegations of deliberately violating certain British-Irish Quidditch League rules and regulations."

Then he turned his attention to the center of the room, where Wood was sitting, and said to him: "You are Oliver Wood?"

"Yes," Wood said.

"You were banished from the British-Irish Quidditch League among allegations of cheating?"

"Yes, but these allegations—"

"Silence!" roared Kingsley. "It is not down to you to decide the truth or falsity of the allegations! I might remind you, you are here to appeal your banishment from the British-Irish Quidditch League!"

"If it pleases Minister Shacklebolt!" Harry shouted.

"You are Harry James Potter, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, married to Ginevra Molly Potter, father of James Sirius Potter?"

"Yes, Minister Shacklebolt," said Harry, "and I am willing to present myself and Minerva McGonagall as character witnesses to overturn Wood's banishment."

"Step forward, Mr. Potter," Kingsley said. "Present your case."

"I only knew Oliver Wood for three years," said Harry, "but they were three of the most glorious years of my life, because I played Quidditch on the same team as Wood during my first three years at Hogwarts. During the three years that I played with him, I have never known Oliver Wood to cheat. I can personally vouch for the fact that Wood was—and still is—one of the greatest Keepers that the game of Quidditch has ever known!"

"I would have thought," said Mafalda Hopkirk, "that the better a Keeper Oliver Wood is projected as being, the worse, given the fact that the only logical explanation for his 'amazing' play is that he cheated in several officially sanctioned Quidditch matches!"

"It is the wrong explanation, Madam Hopkirk," said Professor McGonagall. "I have also observed Oliver Wood's Quidditch performance in Hogwarts as well as in the British-Irish Quidditch League, and I see no evidence that Wood cheated in any of his matches. I have no idea what… ah… _incompetent_ employees you have running the British-Irish Quidditch League, but surely those employees are behind Wood's banishment in the first place!"

"SILENCE!" Kingsley shouted again. "Emphatic though your opinions may be, Madam McGonagall, it is not down to you to evaluate the competence, or lack thereof, of any employee of the Ministry of Magic!"

"Of course it is not, Minister Shacklebolt," said Professor McGonagall. "I was simply expressing my disgust at this ridiculous banishment, and I demand that it be summarily lifted at once!"

"That is not your decision!" yelled Kingsley, who by now was looking quite deranged. "You are not helping Oliver Wood's case at all!"

"If I might speak, Minister Shacklebolt," said Harry.

"Proceed," Kingsley said.

"I think the best chance Wood has of ever playing Quidditch again is if we show this court exactly how good a player he is, and why he should be allowed to continue to play Quidditch."

Silence fell in the courtroom. Then Kingsley said, "Very well, Mr. Potter, continue."

"Not only was Wood one of the greatest Keepers that the game of Quidditch has ever known," Harry said, "but it is because of him that I am who I am today: a Hogwarts Inter-House Quidditch Cup champion! Yes, in my third year at Hogwarts, Wood and I won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, their first Quidditch Cup championship since Charlie Weasley!"

Silence fell again, except for a few witches and wizards who "oohed."

"It is because of Wood," Harry went on, "that I am who I am today: I have just been accepted into the British-Irish Quidditch League Draft! In fact, without Wood, I might never have gone this far in Quidditch! Without Wood, I might never have won the Inter-House Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor! In fact—dare I say it?—without Wood, I might never have taken a liking to Quidditch in the first place."

There was more silence. Seeing that he had everyone's attention, he continued speaking: "So if you are going to allow this ridiculous banishment to be upheld, you would effectively banish me from the British-Irish Quidditch League as well, a mere two weeks after you have accepted me into the Draft."

"I believe what Mr. Potter is attempting to say," Professor McGonagall said, "is that if you uphold Oliver Wood's banishment from the British-Irish Quidditch League, Potter will in fact refuse to participate in your Draft."

"I'd like to say something on behalf of Oliver Wood," said a wizard who had just stood up. "I don't know exactly how competent or incompetent you Ministry employees are about banishing some of the best players in the League. I don't know why your decision should influence Mr. Potter on whether or not he participates in the Draft this year. Personally, I would be honored if Mr. Potter were to play on my team this year. But if there is one thing I do know, it is the fact that I will play with no Keeper but Oliver Wood. I believe in the man."

"That goes for me as well," said a witch that stood up, and other witches and wizards stood up… many of them… more than half. Harry understood: These witches and wizards were unmistakably Quidditch players and supporters of Puddlemere United. Harry looked at Wood and noticed that his eyes were welling up with tears.

"Thank you," Wood said, sniffing. "All of you. You don't know how much this means to me."

"I think it's about time," said Professor McGonagall, "that this court made a decision as to whether to uphold or overturn the banishment of Oliver Wood from the British-Irish Quidditch League."

"Sit down, all of you!" barked Kingsley, and everyone sat down obediently. There was silence for several moments. Then Reg Cattermole said:

"Those in favor of upholding the banishment of Oliver Wood from the British-Irish Quidditch League?"

Harry and Wood looked around. Not one witch or wizard was raising his or her hand. Wood nudged Harry in the ribs, but Harry ignored him.

"And those in favor of overturning said banishment?" said Cattermole.

And at once, every witch and wizard raised their hands. Harry could not help but notice out of the corner of his eye that Professor McGonagall was smiling. It took a few more seconds for him to realize that she was smiling at _him._

"Hands down," said Kingsley. Everyone obeyed, and silence fell for several minutes. Then Kingsley continued: "The people have spoken. The banishment of Oliver Wood from the British-Irish Quidditch League has been unanimously and summarily overturned."

"Congratulations, Mr. Wood," said Cattermole, "and welcome back."

"We are adjourned," said Kingsley, and the courtroom erupted into a fit of cheering. Harry was nudged in the ribs. He turned to find Wood in tears again.

"I can't thank you enough, Potter," Wood said. "I'll see you in the air soon."

"You too, Wood," Harry said, and they wrapped one another in a bear hug. Professor McGonagall tapped Wood's shoulder, and Wood released Harry and turned to her.

"Thank you so much, Professor," he said.

"You are most welcome, Wood," said Professor McGonagall. "Welcome back."

Everyone filed out of the courtroom except the three of them, as well as Cattermole and Kingsley.

"Congratulations again to you, Mr. Wood," Cattermole said. "I am looking forward to another great Quidditch season from you."

"Thank you," said Wood.

"And congratulations to you as well, Mr. Potter," Cattermole went on. "Good luck in the Draft."

"Thank you, Mr. Cattermole," said Harry.

Cattermole left the courtroom, followed by Kingsley.

"I must be getting back to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "I'll see you two in the air."

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry and Wood in unison, and Professor McGonagall Disapparated.

"Well, this is good-bye for now, Potter," said Wood.

"'Bye, Wood," said Harry, and Wood Disapparated. Harry, the last to leave, Disapparated as well, bound for number twelve, Grimmauld Place once more.

**WOOD REINSTATED AS ELIGIBLE  
BRITISH-IRISH QUIDDITCH LEAGUE KEEPER**

The famous British-Irish Quidditch League Keeper, Oliver Wood, was reinstated for eligibility into the League today after his banishment from the League was unanimously and summarily overturned by the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Reg Cattermole, as well as Ministry of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt.

A tearful Wood was unavailable for comment on his overturned banishment.

Notable character witnesses who assisted Wood in reversing his banishment included Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as Harry Potter, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who plans to participate in this year's British-Irish Quidditch League Draft. Neither of these character witnesses was available for comment.

That night, back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place…

"Harry?" Ginny said.

"Yes, Ginny?"

"You are truly the most amazing man I've ever met," said Ginny.

"I know I am," said Harry. "And you are the most amazing woman I know."

"I love you," said Ginny.

"I love you, too," said Harry.

They kissed and went upstairs.


	8. The Draft

Harry and Ginny were at the Department of Magical Games and Sports when Ron approached them in a run, followed by Hermione.

"Harry! Harry!" he said excitedly. "I got in! I'm a member of the Kenmare Kestrels!"

"That's great, Ron!" Ginny exclaimed.

"It's a shame, though," said Ron. "I really wanted to be on the Chudley Cannons, you know, my favorite team, but turns out they already have enough Keepers."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Listen—Ron—well done, mate."

"You'd better be on the Chudley Cannons," Ron said, "or I'll deny I ever knew you."

"_Ron!"_ said Hermione exasperatedly, nudging him in the ribs.

"No pressure, though, Harry," said Ron.

"Right," Harry said as the four of them entered the British Quidditch League Headquarters, where the Draft was being held. They sat down at a waiting table.

"Good luck, Harry," said Ginny.

"You too, Ginny," said Harry.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called Reg Cattermole, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. "Welcome to the three hundred and ninety-seventh British Quidditch League Draft!"

Everyone cheered and applauded loudly.

"Now, as many of you may know—but I'll restate this for the ones who don't—rounds one and two are played today, while rounds three through seven are played tomorrow. Remember: Not all of you who have come to participate in the draft will be chosen, and to those who aren't, let me be the first to say thank you for coming and good luck in your future endeavors."

As he said this, Harry noticed that some of the people were looking around nervously. He could not help but notice that some of these players were afraid they would not be chosen. Harry could not blame them: He had felt the pang of exclusion, back in his days with the Dursleys, and he knew exactly how they felt.

"But to those who _are_ chosen, let me say congratulations, and good luck on the team for whom you'll be playing!"

There was more cheers and applause.

"Now, let the Draft begin!"

The cheers and applause grew louder, and a large blackboard above Cattermole flashed: CHUDLEY CANNONS, 15:00. The clock on the board began to tick.

"Shif' aside there, move along, comin' through. All righ', Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny?"

"Hagrid!" they all said together.

"What are you doing here?" said Ron.

"Come ter watch th' Draf', o' course!" said Hagrid. "I heard Ron got in ter th' Kenmare Kestrels."

"Yep," said Ron. "Of course, I really wanted Chudley, but—"

"Yeah, they've go' enough Keepers already, I know," said Hagrid. "Hermione told me. I really wanted Grawpy ter come too, bu' he nearly gnawed me fingers off, bless him. Turns ou', he's no' really inter Quidditch."

"Not into Quidditch?" asked Ron. "Who in his right mind's not into Quidditch?"

"Yeah, tha's what I tried tellin' Olympe," said Hagrid, "bu' Olympe said if he don' wanna go, don' make him go, so he's stayin' a' Hogwarts."

The scoreboard continued to tick down until it read CHUDLEY CANNONS, 0:49, and then suddenly went blank. The crowd fell quiet and faced forward as Reg Cattermole took the stage.

"With the first selection in the three hundred and ninety-seventh British Quidditch League Draft," he said, "the Chudley Cannons select… Harry James Potter, Seeker, Hogwarts Gryffindor!"

Immediately the crowd exploded into a fit of applause and cheering as Harry stood up and approached the stage. He stepped on the stage and was accompanied by Cattermole, as well as Kingsley Shacklebolt and the owner of the Chudley Cannons, Samuel Finnigan, father of Seamus.

"Congratulations to you, Mr. Potter," said Samuel, "and good luck. I hope we see some amazing game play from you this year."

"Thank you, Mr. Finnigan," said Harry.

"And now, Mr. Potter," said Samuel, "you'll need to sign this contract. It is a standard four-year contract that pays ten thousand Galleons a season as a rookie Seeker, plus a signing bonus of ten thousand Galleons. If you have an account at Gringotts, your earnings will be deposited into your vault. In accordance with Department of Magical Games and Sports regulations, for security purposes, we cannot pay your earnings directly to you, at the risk that they may be lost or stolen."

Harry read the contract through three times, as though trying to detect something he didn't like, but everything looked good to him. He signed the last page where his signature was demanded, and handed it to Samuel.

"I'm looking forward to this, Mr. Potter," said Samuel. "I'll see you in the air."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Finnigan," said Harry, and rejoined Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

"I _knew_ you'd be top pick!" roared Ron, punching the air. "I KNEW IT, HARRY!"

"_Ron!"_ said Hermione reproachfully.

"My hero!" said Ginny, and kissed him.

The Wimbourne Wasps and Falmouth Falcons made their selections, and now the Holyhead Harpies were on the clock. It looked like the Harpies were having a tough time making a decision, as the Wasps and the Falcons had made theirs relatively quickly, as though they knew exactly who they wanted within two minutes of their turns. Finally, however, Reg Cattermole stepped up on stage again, and made the announcement.

"With the fourth selection in the three hundred and ninety-seventh British Quidditch League Draft," he said, "the Holyhead Harpies select… Ginevra Molly Potter, Chaser, Hogwarts Gryffindor!"

The crowd cheered and applauded, and Ginny stood up and hugged Harry while being clapped hard on the back by Ron; Hermione merely said, "Well done, Ginny!" Ginny stepped up on stage and was accompanied by Cattermole, Kingsley, and the owner of the Harpies.

"So how do you think she'll do, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I'm not worried about her," said Harry nervously. "It's _me_ I'm worried about."

"Oh come _off_ it, Harry," said Ron. "You'll be great, I know it!"

"Don't be so sure, Ron," said Hermione. "This is professional Quidditch; they're much faster and more brutal than Hogwarts."

"You're right about that," said Ron. "Listen—Harry—no pressure, mate, but if you don't win, I'll kill you."

"That's _enough,_ Ron!" said Hermione exasperatedly, but she noticed that Harry was smiling, and said, "Don't be too cocky, though, Harry; rumor has it some of these guys _can_ kill you if you're not careful."

"Right," said Harry as Ginny rejoined them. "Listen—Ginny—well done."

"Don't touch me, Harry," said Ginny fiercely. "Don't think I'll go easy on you only because we're married. Because when I play Quidditch, I play to win."

"Right," Harry said again, but he couldn't help noticing that Ron was chuckling. "Oh shut up," he said, but it was no good: Ron started laughing. Harry rolled his eyes and scowled. From then on, it can be safely said that tensions began to develop between Harry and Ginny.

But when the Draft was over, and Harry and Ginny were back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, they went right back to a loving couple first, and devoted parents second. In fact, it can be safely said that before Christmas, Harry made a special trip to Diagon Alley and bought a very special present for Ginny.

So that, when Christmas Day arrived, Ginny was perhaps the most excited woman in the Wizarding world when she received this present.

"What is it?" she asked Harry curiously.

"Open it up," said Harry. "You'll see."

Ravenously she opened up the wrappings, and out of them fell—a broom.

"Oh, _Harry!"_ shrieked Ginny excitedly. "What _is_ that?"

"It's a Firebolt, just like mine," said Harry. "Only yours is prototype three, and may be faster than mine. I thought you'd need it when you play for the Harpies in a month."

A speechless Ginny wrapped herself around Harry so tightly he nearly suffocated, but wrapped himself around her in return.

"Oh, Harry," whispered Ginny. "It's the best present I've ever had."

"That's not all I have for you," said Harry softly.

"What else, you sly fox?" Ginny said.

"Follow me," said Harry, and the pair of them went upstairs.


	9. Harry's First Game

"We welcome you, ladies and gentlemen, to Chudley Stadium on a fine fourth day of spring, where the conditions are perfect for round four of British-Irish Quidditch League play!" exclaimed Lee Jordan. "I'm Lee Jordan, your humble announcer for more incredible Quidditch action as today the undefeated, league-leading Chudley Cannons get set to take on the Wigtown Wanderers!"

Supporters of Chudley and Wigtown alike cheered excitedly as they waited for the match to begin. Inside the Chudley tunnel, the head coach of the Cannons was giving last-minute instructions to his team.

"All right, folks, this is it," he said. "The big one. The one we've all been waiting for."

Harry made a mental note that the coach sounded a lot like Oliver Wood.

"Today," the coach said, "we got Wigtown. Now, I've analyzed their play strategies for weeks, and all I can say is… be careful, play smart, and keep your guard up, and we'll do fine."

"This git says that every match," Harry heard a Beater say to him. "Honestly, you'd think he's leading us to our deaths."

"Why are you talking to _him?"_ his fellow Beater said. _"He_ won't see a single minute of action."

"Shut up, you two," said the coach. "We're going to win. I know it. I can feel it. _We're going to win."_

"_There's_ something new," said the first Beater. "He's said that before, too."

A gong sounded outside.

"It's time, then," the coach said. "Let's go."

"And heeeeeeere are the Chudley Cannons!" Jordan said. "Obviously, Coach George Johnson is staying with a tried-and-true starting lineup for this round-four matchup. And why not? He's already won three games with his starters. Why change anything now?"

The Chudley supporters began screaming as though mad.

"Heeeeeere come the Wigtown Wanderers!" Jordan went on. "Coach Elliot Bell, on the other hand, has made some changes to his lineup and is going for more speed against the Cannons. Personally, I think that move might be questionable, given how well Chudley has been playing lately, but who am I to question Coach Bell?"

The supporters of Wigtown began to cheer for their team.

"And as the players take their positions," Jordan said, "the respective team captains are approaching the center of the field, along with today's referee, Doreen Hooch."

"Captains, shake hands!" Hooch ordered, and a Chudley Chaser shook hands with the Wigtown Keeper. Hooch then released two Bludgers and a Golden Snitch, and was now carrying the Quaffle in one hand while holding her broom with the other.

"Mount your brooms," Hooch said, and fifteen brooms rose into the air. "On the whistle! Three… two… one…"

She threw the Quaffle into the air and blew her whistle, and at once six Chasers scrambled for it as the crowd cheered. The game had begun.

"And they're… OFF!" Jordan yelled. "Quaffle won by Thomas of Wigtown out of the opening scramble, and look at him go! He dodges two Bludgers… two Chudley Chasers… two Beaters… and he's going right for the goal—and now it's just him and Ackerley… He scores! It's ten-love to Wigtown, and the Chudley crowd is just absolutely stunned!"

By contrast, the Wigtown supporters were cheering. Harry noted that Thomas was sporting a prototype three Firebolt.

"Chudley in possession of the Quaffle after that fast score," said Jordan, "and it's—no, bad pass by Dudley intercepted by Smith and Wigtown back in possession and—oh look, he's charging the goalposts… and he's scored! Twenty-love, Wigtown in the lead, and things are not looking pretty for Chudley right at this point."

One of Chudley's Beaters began shouting at Chaser Dudley as another Cannon Chaser prepared for the throw-in.

"So two quick goals for Wigtown, and Chudley back in possession," said Jordan. "And there's a nice fancy pass by Moon, right to Dudley, and—oh! Dudley just misses getting smacked by an oncoming Bludger, and he stays on his broom—but the Quaffle is loose and it's picked up by—Moon, Chudley still in possession, but Moon is held up by Christopher of Wigtown and passes it off to—Dudley—no, it's Boot, I'm being told—oh, and he can't hold on!—and it's intercepted by Smith of Wigtown, Wigtown in possession—OUCH! Great Beater play by Hood of Chudley and the Quaffle is retaken by Dudley, and he's being tailed by Smith—OH, WHAT A SCORE!"

The Chudley Cannon supporters roared in approval of Dudley's goal.

"Twenty-ten to Wigtown and Wigtown back in possession, Thomas to throw in… and it's caught by Smith… now Warrington… and these Wigtown Chasers playing nearly flawlessly right about now—OH! Warrington nearly ran headlong into Moon, and he drops the Quaffle, and it's seized by Thomas.…"

Harry had only seen Quidditch played like this a few times before, once in the Quidditch World Cup final between Bulgaria and Ireland before his fourth year at Hogwarts. He remembered: Ireland won handily by one hundred seventy to one hundred sixty as Viktor Krum beat Aidan Lynch to the Snitch when Bulgaria was one hundred sixty points behind. And now, if he was not mistaken, he was once again witnessing Quidditch at an enhanced level of brutality, as both teams were now scoring at will.…

"It's fifty-forty to Chudley, Chudley in possession and—hey, wait a minute! Seeker Chang of Chudley looks as though she's seen the Snitch!"

Harry turned and saw Cho Chang, his first girlfriend, speeding toward the center of the field.

"She's just five meters away from winning the game for the Cannons… if she can just—OH NO!"

_WHAM!_

"AAARRGGGGHHHHH!"

Cho had been clobbered from behind by a Bludger hit by Beater Morris of Wigtown, and was now spiraling down, down, down. Then—

_CRASH!_

Cho fell off her broom and rolled onto her back, unconscious. Mediwizards were scrambling onto the field to try to help.

"Oh—my—goodness!" screamed Jordan. "A brutal Bludger smash by Beater Morris for Wigtown, and Cho Chang is down!"

As the mediwizards looked over the situation, Harry got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and looked as though he might be sick. Though they had fallen apart in his fifth year at Hogwarts, he and Cho had remained good friends, even through his marriage to Ginny. And now that Cho was unconscious, possibly even dead, Harry could not help but feel sick.

Twenty minutes later, Cho was still unconscious, and even Jordan was starting to sound worried, as now a stretcher was on the field to bear her off.

"Let me tell you, folks," he said, "at this point you are not _hoping_ that Chang will be all right… you are _praying,_ after that blatant and revolting Bludger smash—Wait a minute!"

The crowd began cheering as the mediwizards lifted Cho off the field and placed her on the stretcher.

"I've just been told that Chang has given our mediwizards a thumbs-up!" Jordan said. "Her first words upon regaining consciousness were: 'If Harry Potter is watching, tell him I said hello.'"

Harry could not help but smile as he watched Cho being carried off the field and out of the stadium. Now Madam Hooch approached Coach George Johnson.

"Chudley, you have one minute to find a Seeker, or your team forfeits," she said.

"Time," Johnson replied, and Madam Hooch blew the whistle.

"Time, Chudley!" she said.

"Guys," Johnson said grimly, "we need a Seeker."

At this, Harry stepped forward and said, "I'm in."

"You?" said Hood, a Beater.

"That's a joke," said the Keeper, Ackerley. "Have you seen the Beaters play? They're mostly concerned with taking out Seekers! They'll mop the floor with you just as they did with Chang, Potter!"

"Just trust me," said Harry. "I can elude the Bludgers. I've got a Firebolt."

"Maybe so," said Chaser Moon, "but yours is only a prototype one, whereas everyone on Wigtown is on a prototype three! What chance does your Firebolt have against seven of theirs?"

"So, Potter," said Johnson, "you think you can win us our fourth in a row? Get past those Bludgers and all that codswallop you just said, and get the Snitch before they do?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"Good," Johnson said. "Referee! Game on!" Then he turned to the team at large and said, "Hands in."

All the Cannon players put their right hands in the middle, along with Johnson's.

"'Cannons' on three, players," Johnson said. "One… two… three…"

"CANNONS!" they yelled. The huddle broke, and three Chasers, two Beaters, and the Keeper flew onto the field. As Harry followed him into the air, he could not help but notice someone shouting,

"Reg! There he is! It's Harry Potter!"

The crowd started screaming louder than ever as they watched Harry fly through the air… Yes, there could be no mistake now… Harry Potter had come to play professional Quidditch.

"Well, folks, it looks like the Chudley Cannons are ready to play again," said Jordan, "and look who they've found as their Seeker! Mark this day down in your calendars, ladies and gentlemen! March twenty-fifth, two thousand and six! Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the conqueror of the ever-infamous Lord Voldemort, now flies even higher today—literally and figuratively—as he joins the Chudley Cannons to play professional Quidditch in the British-Irish Quidditch League!"

Harry looked around and saw thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing, heard the crowd chanting "POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"

"Penalty shot to Chudley," said Madam Hooch, "for unnecessary roughness on the part of Wigtown's Beater!"

Moon flew forward to take the penalty, but apparently she was still so angry about Morris' foul on Chang that she threw the Quaffle right into the Keeper's chest, not even trying to score.

"No goal!" said Madam Hooch. "Wigtown Quaffle!"

The Keeper threw it not to a Chaser, but to one of his Beaters, who whacked it right to a waiting Thomas, who charged the goalposts and scored—fifty-all. But from then on, things were looking quite disastrous for the Wigtown Wanderers as now the Chudley Cannons started on a scoring spree, during which the Snitch never seemed to appear—but, of course, Wigtown also scored some goals of their own.

"It's one hundred and eighty points to one hundred in favor of Chudley," said Jordan, "and things are looking really good for Chudley now—WAIT! THERE GOES HARRY POTTER!"

Harry had clearly just seen the Snitch and was now going for it as fast as he possibly could, but all of a sudden, it vanished, and Harry was forced to stop.

"Oh, how utterly disappointing!" Jordan said. "Potter had a clear shot at the Snitch and it just skated away from him!"

"Hey, Potter!" shouted a Wigtown Beater, Anderson. "Where's your Gin-Gin sitting?"

"She's not here!" Harry, who knew he was talking about Ginny, shouted back.

"This one's for Gin-Gin!" said Anderson. "Gin-Gin! Gin-Gin!"

Harry just folded his arms.

"Morris!" Anderson shouted—at which Morris, his fellow Beater, served a Bludger right to him; Anderson, in turn, whacked it right at Harry's head and—

"AAAAARRRRGGGHHH!"

"OH NOT AGAIN!" Jordan roared as Harry spiraled down, down, down to the field. Then—

_CRASH!_

Harry fell onto the surface but managed to hang on to his Firebolt as Anderson flew down to meet him.

"Read _that_ and weep, Potter," said Anderson with contempt as he mounted his broom and reentered the air, met by a loud chorus of boos from the Chudley crowd. Anderson mimicked crying, taunting Harry and laughing. "What, are you kidding me? I eat rookie Seekers for breakfast!"

"We'll get you next time, Anderson!" screeched Chudley Beater Hood.

"No—no—I'm all right, really!" Harry shouted, waving off the mediwizards. "I can play!"

"And unless I'm much mistaken," Jordan said, "Harry Potter is actually attempting to ward off the mediwizards, insisting that he is still fit to play Quidditch—and it seems the mediwizards agree, as they are now backing off!"

Harry climbed back onto his broom and went back into the air to much cheers and applause.

"Chudley penalty!" Madam Hooch yelled at Anderson. "Never—_never_—have I seen such a dirty trick in my entire life—how _dare_ you?"

"And it's another penalty to Chudley, taken by Dudley and he—SCORES!" Jordan shouted. "Chudley in the lead, one hundred and ninety to one hundred!"

And from then on, there seemed to be a new spring in the step of the Chudley Keeper as no Chaser scored for a span of more than ten minutes. Finally, Boot stole the Quaffle from Warrington and made a fancy shot that scored. Two hundred to one hundred.

"All right, Boot!" Harry bellowed, but then saw something that almost made his heart fail: Christopher, the Wigtown Seeker, had seen the Snitch and was now heading right for it.

He gave chase; but Christopher, who as everyone else on the Wigtown Wanderers was sporting a prototype three Firebolt, seemed to be too far away… if Christopher grabbed the Snitch now, Chudley would lose… he, Harry, would lose his first professional Quidditch game.… At last he did the only thing left to him.

"Oi, Christopher!" he screamed. "That's no Snitch, you idiot; somebody's dropped their gold watch!"

Amazingly, Christopher turned and sped past Harry in the other direction, and now it was Harry closing in on the Snitch… and now Christopher realized that he had been fooled… Angered, he charged the Snitch once more… he was now neck and neck with Harry… He wasn't going to let Harry Potter steal his glory, his Golden Snitch; he didn't care if he _was_ the Boy Who Lived, the one who had defeated Lord Voldemort…

But it was too late. It was Harry who ended up with the Snitch.

"YES!" he roared.

"Winner!" said Madam Hooch. "Chudley Cannons!"

"HE'S DONE IT!" yelled Jordan. "HARRY POTTER, IN HIS BRITISH-IRISH QUIDDITCH LEAGUE DEBUT, HAS CAPTURED THE GOLDEN SNITCH AND WON ONE HUNDRED FIFTY POINTS AND THE MATCH FOR THE CHUDLEY CANNONS!"

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!" the crowd was screaming again, and again thousands upon thousands of Omniocular lenses were flashing in his direction.

"The final score," said Jordan, "Chudley Cannons three hundred and fifty, Wigtown Wanderers one hundred! Congratulations to Harry Potter!"

Now Chudley players and supporters alike were flooding the pitch, all of them closing in, just as determined to touch some part of him as were those at Hogwarts that had seen the truth of Voldemort's end for themselves.… They might have already won the British-Irish Quidditch League Championship.… The next thing Harry knew, he was being carried off the field, through the tunnel, and into the locker room.

"Harry!" Ginny, who was now pregnant with who would be their second child, Albus Severus Potter, was squeaking back in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. _"Harry!"_

"Ginny?" said Harry, and the next thing he knew, she had wrapped herself around him and was looking at him with her familiar blazing look.

"I saw your match against Wigtown today," said Ginny. "You were great!"

"What about you and Holyhead?" Harry asked.

"We won too," said Ginny. "We clobbered Oliver Wood with twenty-two goals and beat Puddlemere, three hundred and seventy to one hundred and fifty."

"That's great," said Harry.

**CANNONS SEEKER CHANG MAY MISS REST OF SEASON**

The famous Chudley Cannons Seeker, Cho Chang, 27, suffered a neck sprain in Chudley's game against the Wigtown Wanderers as she was only five meters away from capturing the Snitch with Chudley leading fifty-forty. Had she been successful, Chudley would have won by the score of two hundred to forty.

The severity of this injury is such that Chang may miss the remainder of the current British-Irish Quidditch League season. Harry Potter, 26, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, was today named Chudley's starting Seeker in Chang's absence by Coach George Johnson.

"It's really sad seeing Miss Chang have to leave the team," Chudley Cannon Chaser Darius Dudley said. "We'll undoubtedly miss her, and we hope she'll come back to play for us soon."

"I feel really blessed," said Beater Tom Hood, "that we got Potter to come in for Chang in our time of need. I think Potter is an excellent Seeker, and I hope to see him play Quidditch for a long time."

Thanks to Potter's efforts, the Chudley Cannons did win their match with the Wigtown Wanderers by the final score of three hundred fifty to one hundred.


	10. Release and Disarming

Five weeks later, Harry and the Chudley Cannons defeated the Pride of Portree by the count of two hundred to one hundred and seventy. Chudley won this match from twelve goals behind, as their Chasers and Keeper Ackerley were well off their game, scoring only five goals to seventeen allowed by Ackerley. Harry, however, proved to be on a hot streak, catching his second Snitch in as many games and therefore allowing Chudley to rise as the only undefeated team remaining in the League (the Montrose Magpies lost to the Falmouth Falcons by the count of two hundred and ninety to seventy).

It was now May the twenty-sixth, just one day before round-six play in the British-Irish Quidditch League, after which the trade deadline would have expired. The Chudley Cannons were to have the bye this round. Cho Chang was on the ground floor ("Artifact Accidents") of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. She was alone until Healer Pomfrey opened the door to her ward.

"Miss Chang?" Pomfrey said. "You have visitors."

She left the ward, and Samuel Finnigan, Darius Stewart, and George Johnson, the owner, general manager, and head coach of the Chudley Cannons, entered, followed by Harry in his Invisibility Cloak.

"Miss Chang?" Stewart said.

"Yes?" Cho asked.

"The Chudley Cannons have found such a good match in Harry Potter that—" Stewart stopped and started again. "Well, unfortunately, we have grown rather tired of waiting for your neck to recover. Isn't that right, Mr. Johnson?" he asked, turning to him.

Johnson did not respond as even so much by looking up: It was clear to him what Stewart was going to do with Cho Chang, and Johnson did not like the situation at all.

"So here's what we're going to do. We're going to let you sit the rest of the season out on the injured reserve roster… and then after the Playoffs, we're going to release you."

Cho's face fell—just like that, her British-Irish Quidditch League career was over.

"What can we say, Chang?" asked Finnigan in an attempt to comfort her. "You've had a heck of a career, but it is _Mr. Stewart's opinion"_—he threw an exceedingly nasty look at Stewart—"that you're the past, and Mr. Potter's the future, and we need to move on!"

"I understand, sir," said Chang sadly, and Finnigan nodded.

"Good day to you, my dear," said Stewart, and he, Finnigan, and Johnson left the ward. Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak so suddenly that Cho almost jumped and shrieked.

"Hello, Cho," said Harry with a smile.

"Harry," said Cho, smiling back at him in spite of herself.

"I'm sorry you got released," said Harry.

"Oh don't worry about me, Harry," said Cho, taking his hand into hers. "Actually, I wanted to say something to you."

"Yes?" Harry said.

"Listen, Harry," said Cho. "Don't take Quidditch too seriously."

When Harry didn't answer, she went on: "Because one day, it'll all be over. Your gift will be gone."

There was more silence. Harry's face sank, and his eyes were filling up with tears.

"Cho, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Harry sobbed.

"Don't worry about me," said Cho. "I'll be fine. I guess I could find work at Weasley's joke shop once I'm out of here."

"I guess so," said Harry. "George is always hiring."

"So I hear," said Cho. "Listen—Harry—take care of yourself, won't you? And say hello to Ginny for me."

"I will," said Harry, and he Disapparated.

"No, no, I promise we'll be there," said Eric Finch-Fletchley, general manager of the Montrose Magpies. He was talking to Rita Skeeter's head in the fireplace of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"I most certainly hope so!" shouted Skeeter's head. "Otherwise, I shall have to publish that rather nasty article about how you—ah—_fixed_ last year's British-Irish Quidditch League Championship."

"No, my dear, I assure you that will not be necessary," said Finch-Fletchley. "Thank you, thank you, I assure you that you will not be disappointed. Good day, Miss Skeeter."

Skeeter's head vanished just as Harry Apparated.

"Potter!" said Finch-Fletchley. "I had an exclusive Portkey waiting for you in front of the lobby to take you to the photo shoot for the _Daily Prophet,_ and it went off the _Daily Prophet_ office without me or you. Now where were you?"

"I was at St. Mungo's with Cho," said Harry.

"'Cho'?" Finch-Fletchley repeated. "Cho _Chang?_ I am so SICK and TIRED of hearing about CHO CHANG! Now, then, Rita Skeeter has booked you for an interview at two, and I promised her you'd be there. Go get ready."

"No," said Harry.

"No? Yes," said Finch-Fletchley. "Otherwise, I shall see to it that you won't be able to come _near_ another Quidditch game, let alone play in one, for the rest of your life!"

"Get out of my face, Eric!" Harry shouted, and he began to walk away.

"I will not be spoken to like that, Potter!" Finch-Fletchley yelled back. "And don't you DARE walk away from me when I'm talking to you! You show me some respect!"

"You're not my coach!" Harry screeched.

"That's right; I'm _not_ your coach!" Finch-Fletchley bellowed. "Cho Chang is not your coach! In fact, your wife probably doesn't even know who your coach IS! She thinks your coach is some washed-up has-been—"

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" roared Ginny, who was coming downstairs and who had clearly heard the entire ordeal.

"Mrs. Potter!" said Finch-Fletchley nervously. "I—I didn't—"

"How can you say that?" Ginny said. "Get out of my house! I never want to see you again!"

"Oho!" said Finch-Fletchley. "But you and Harry both are going to be seeing me; in fact, you're going to be seeing a LOT of me! Because we're all moving to Montrose together!"

"WHAT?"

"That's right!" Finch-Fletchley said, and it was evident that he was now excited. "Harry's just been sold to the Magpies!"

"You can't do that!"

"Of course I can! I am the manager!"

"He is MY HUSBAND!"

"He is MY CLIENT!"

"How _dare_ you—?"

"I'm the one that brought in Nimbus!" Finch-Fletchley shouted angrily. _"I'm_ the one that brought in Bertie Bott and the Every Flavor Beans!"

"You stay away from him!" Ginny yelled.

"HE'S HALF MINE!" screamed Finch-Fletchley, who by now was looking quite deranged. No one saw Harry draw his wand until it was too late.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Harry bellowed.

The force of this Disarming Charm, Harry's own trademark spell, threw Finch-Fletchley backward through the glass window, and he ended up outside the house and sprawled on his back on the sidewalk. He attempted to stand up and force his way back inside, but at the very next moment, Kreacher the house-elf arrived with Finch-Fletchley's luggage and wand.

"Don't forget your luggage!" he growled with contempt, and threw the luggage at him, careful to strike him in his unmentionables. "And your wand as well!" he added, and threw the wand, which ignited and set his robes on fire. Satisfied, Kreacher entered the house again.

"That didn't even hurt, okay?" said Finch-Fletchley weakly, and he Disapparated.

"YES!" yelled Harry inside the house.

"That was _brilliant,_ Harry!" said Ginny, and they embraced.

"That felt _great!"_ Harry screamed. "I haven't Disarmed anyone in ages! I forgot how good that felt!"

"You were _amazing,_ Harry," said Ginny. _"Amazing!"_

"And let it be known," said Kreacher, "that Kreacher played his part! Let Kreacher's contribution not be forgotten!"

"You were fantastic, too, Kreacher," said Harry as Kreacher bowed low.

"Harry," said Ginny, "we need to talk."

"About what?"

"About your coach, George Johnson."

"What about him?"

"Harry," said Ginny, "do you know who George Johnson was?"

"No," said Harry, "I'm afraid I don't."

"I didn't either," said Ginny, "until Dad told me about him. He said he was the best Chaser the Ballycastle Bats ever had. He holds the record for most goals in a single game AND the record for most goals in a single season! He led the Bats to three consecutive British-Irish Quidditch League Championships, and was on his way to a fourth when he took a Bludger to the head that nearly killed him, and certainly ended his professional Quidditch career as a player. He was out of Quidditch for several years until he took over the coaching job for the Chudley Cannons last year! Harry, _you're playing Quidditch for a three-time British-Irish Quidditch League Champion!"_

"That's _great!"_ Harry exclaimed, and hugged her again. "I can't wait to tell Ron and Hermione!"

At Ron and Hermione's house...

"He's a _what?"_ shrieked Hermione as Ron spat out a mouthful of butterbeer.

"My Quidditch coach is a three-time British-Irish Quidditch League Champion!"

"Who the ruddy hell told you that?" Ron said, outraged. "I swear, if Ginny told you that, she's worse than dead!"

"Oh shut _up,_ Ron!" said Hermione. "Harry, are you _sure_ he's a champion?"

"Would Ginny lie to me?" said Harry.

"Who told her?" said Ron.

"Dad," said Harry.

"Oi!" yelled Ron. "How come he never tells _me_ any of these things?"

"Honestly, Ron—" Hermione began, but Ron cut her off.

"Don't 'honestly' me, Hermione!" Ron shouted. "I'm going to the Burrow to ask Dad what else he knows about Quidditch!"

And he Disapparated, leaving Harry and an exasperated Hermione.


	11. A New Playoff System

It was now October the thirtieth, the day before Halloween, and two days before Harry had to get into the air to face off against the Wimbourne Wasps, Chudley's quarterfinal opponents in the British-Irish Quidditch League Playoffs. He was watching television with Ginny and James when, suddenly, the television said:

"We interrupt this broadcast for a special WWN Sports bulletin!"

"What's going on?" Harry wanted to know.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," said a WWN Sports reporter. "We do promise to return you to your regular program as soon as we can, but first we want to inform you about an important announcement from Reg Cattermole, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic, concerning the British-Irish Quidditch League Playoffs."

"Oh, _do_ tell me you haven't been disqualified!" said a worried Ginny, who was now seven and a half months into her pregnancy with Albus Severus Potter.

"We take you now to Reg Cattermole," the reporter said.

"Good afternoon," said Cattermole on the television. "At this time I have an important announcement regarding the British-Irish Quidditch League Playoffs. The Department of Magical Games and Sports has proposed a new playoff system for this year's British-Irish Quidditch League, a system in which, it is said, that every team will get a chance to play their way to the British-Irish Quidditch League Championship. I am pleased to announce that, by a vote of sixty-five to thirty-five, the Department of Magical Games and Sports has decided to approve the new playoff system. Based upon the final standings from the regular season of the British-Irish Quidditch League, I can reveal that the new playoff system will look like this."

The screen changed to display a playoff bracket including all thirteen teams. Ginny gasped, and then shrieked in excitement.

"We're in the Playoffs!" she screamed, and hugged Harry.

"As you can plainly see," said Cattermole's voice-over, "the very first Quidditch playoff match this season will pit the Tutshill Tornadoes against the Ballycastle Bats. This match will take place on November the first, two thousand and six. The winner of that match will play against the Wimbourne Wasps on November the second, on which the Kenmare Kestrels will play against the Caerphilly Catapults, the Falmouth Falcons against the Holyhead Harpies, and the Wigtown Wanderers against the Pride of Portree."

The screen then changed back to Cattermole, and he continued: "It is the opinion of the Department of Magical Games and Sports that this new playoff system will have the dual purpose of giving all thirteen teams a chance to compete for the British-Irish Quidditch League Championship, and sorting out which team will finally stand where at the end of the season. Ladies and gentlemen, that is all from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I thank you, and good day."

"That was Reg Cattermole, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic, with an important announcement regarding the British-Irish Quidditch League Playoffs," said the WWN Sports reporter. "As Cattermole has no doubt told you, this new playoff bracket will give all thirteen teams, from the first-place Montrose Magpies to the last-place Ballycastle Bats, a chance to play for the British-Irish Quidditch League Championship. We thank you for watching this WWN Sports special report, and we now return you to your regular program."

The screen changed again to show the program that Harry, Ginny, and James were watching.

"Now you listen to me," said Ginny fiercely as she turned to face Harry. "I don't care if you _are_ my husband right now, because thanks to Reg Cattermole, I, too, am in the British Quidditch League Playoffs. The way things are looking, you and the Chudley Cannons might have to play for the Championship against my Holyhead Harpies. And if that happens, I'm warning you, Harry James Potter, my Harpies will _not_ go easy on you just because you're my husband."

"As it happens," said Harry, "my Chudley Cannons won't go easy on _you_ just because you're my wife."

"Excellent," said Ginny. "I'll see you in the Championship, Harry."

"Don't bet on it, Ginny," Harry retorted. This was now the point of the year where tensions between Harry and Ginny were high, and would undoubtedly grow higher as the British Quidditch League Playoffs rolled on.

**Author's note: British Quidditch League Playoff Results**

**November 1, 2006: Ballycastle Bats def. Tutshill Tornadoes, 190-140**

**November 2, 2006:**

**Wigtown Wanderers def. Pride of Portree, 270-120**

**Holyhead Harpies def. Falmouth Falcons, 330-130**

**Kenmare Kestrels def. Caerphilly Catapults, 160-150**

**Ballycastle Bats def. Wimbourne Wasps, 160-100**

**November 3, 2006 (Quarterfinals):**

**Chudley Cannons def. Ballycastle Bats, 320-110**

**Appleby Arrows def. Kenmare Kestrals, 400-250**

**Holyhead Harpies def. Puddlemere United, 360-200**

**Wigtown Wanderers def. Montrose Magpies, 150-30 (Time of match: 22 minutes)**

It was now November the fourth, the day of the British Quidditch League Semifinals in Cardiff, Wales. Harry and the Chudley Cannons were to play a rematch against Beater Jeff Morris and the Wigtown Wanderers.

"Okay, you guys," said Coach George Johnson. "This is it, the big one, the one we've all been waiting for."

Chaser Moon rolled his eyes at Harry.

"This is the semifinals," Johnson went on. "We got Wigtown again… only this time, if we lose, we're out. Remember: Be careful, play smart, and keep your guard up. This time… we have to win. _We have to win."_

"I was on this team last year," said the Keeper, Ackerley. "He's never said that before."

"He's never led the Cannons to the playoffs before, idiot," said Chaser Dudley.

"Shut up, you two," said Johnson. "We're going to win. I know it. I can feel it. _We're going to win."_

A gong sounded outside.

"It's time, then," Johnson said. "Let's go."

"Heeeeeeeere come the Chudley Cannons!" exclaimed Lee Jordan, who was commentating again. "Obviously, Coach George Johnson is staying with a tried-and-true starting lineup for this semifinal matchup. And why not? His starters, including that ever-famous Seeker, Harry Potter, defeated the Ballycastle Bats rather handily yesterday by the score of three hundred and twenty to one hundred and ten. Why change anything now?"

The Chudley supporters began screaming as though mad, and the noise only got louder as Harry zoomed through the air.

"Here's an interesting note," said Jordan. "Potter has been staying with a prototype one Firebolt all season long, whereas some of his opponents have been using prototype two or even the new prototype three Firebolts. As a matter of fact, as expected, Wigtown is once again sporting prototype three Firebolts exclusively for this semifinal match against the Chudley Cannons… and heeeeeeeeeere come the Wigtown Wanderers!"

The Wigtown Wanderers now zoomed out into the air to much cheering and applause from their supporters.

"Coach Elliot Bell," said Jordan, "has reverted to his balanced lineup after discovering that speed alone just does not work against these Chudley Cannons. I notice, however, that he has kept five key starters, including two Chasers, a Beater, the Keeper, and the Seeker. We'll see how this strategy works for Coach Bell, whose Wanderers are riding the crest of a twenty-two minute upset over the then number-one Montrose Magpies by the score of one hundred and fifty to thirty… And as the players take their positions, the respective team captains are approaching the center of the field, along with referee Doreen Hooch."

"Captains, shake hands!" Hooch said. Chaser Dudley shook hands with the Wigtown Keeper. Hooch released two Bludgers and the Golden Snitch, and was carrying the Quaffle with one hand while holding her broom with the other.

"Mount your brooms!" she called. Fifteen brooms rose into the air. "On the whistle! Three… two… one…"

She threw the Quaffle in the air and blew the whistle.

"And THERE THEY GO!" yelled Jordan. "And immediately, Thomas of Wigtown is wrestling with Dudley of Chudley—"

Hooch blew the whistle again, took the Quaffle, and shouted, "Chaser scrum!"

And at once, all six Chasers lined up in the scrum formation. Hooch threw the Quaffle into the middle, and the Chasers started wrestling for it again, and it ended up into the hands of—

"Boot for Chudley in possession of the Quaffle after the scrum," said Jordan. "He wisely hands it off to Dudley and—WHOA! Dudley just narrowly misses a speeding Bludger smashed by Beater Morris of Wigtown, nice Quaffle control by Dudley… and then he hands off to Moon who looked like she was just waiting for it and—MOON SCORES! Ten-love to Chudley!"

Chudley supporters were cheering as Moon took a victory lap around the field.

"Wigtown ready for the throw-in by Warrington… taken by Smith—OUCH!"

Smith had just been hit hard in the face by a Bludger from Hood.

"Nice Bludger play by Hood on Smith," said Jordan, "but look at Smith! He's still got the Quaffle and he's now speeding off to the goal! And he's… BLOCKED!"

The Chudley Keeper had made a nice save, and the fans were cheering again.

"Keeper Ackerley takes the Quaffle, Chudley back in possession again, and launches it right to—Boot, I think it is—yes, it's Boot—and oh, look at him go! He's charging through the air past two Wigtown Beaters and—ooh, nearly collides head-on with Chaser Warrington of Wigtown! OH, NO, I THINK HE DID COLLIDE!"

Boot was now spiraling downward to the ground.

_CRASH!_

Mediwizards were now rushing toward the spot where Boot fell, and were now looking him over.

"It doesn't look like anything serious," said Jordan. "Yes—I think Boot is perfectly fine!"

And sure enough, Boot was now clambering back onto his broom to much applause from the Chudley supporters.

"And there he goes again, folks!" said Jordan. "And unless I'm mistaken, Chudley will get a free toss to resume play, as the referee has declared no foul. Free toss to be taken by Moon."

And Moon passed the Quaffle off to Dudley, who was blocked by Seeker Christopher of Wigtown.

"It looks like Wigtown is looking for any excuse to steal the Quaffle away from Chudley," said Jordan. "And—yes, Thomas finally steals it from Boot and he's charging through the field!"

Harry watched horribly as Thomas flew all the way to the Chudley goalposts and chucked the Quaffle hard in Ackerley's direction.

"THOMAS SCORES!" shouted Jordan. "Ten-all!"

And, of course, from that point on, things got into a horrible mess: Wigtown now started to score at will through a span of sixteen minutes.

"It looks like Wigtown is defeating Chudley rather handily by the score of one hundred and seventy to ten—check that—Moon has just scored! It's now one hundred and seventy to _twenty,_ and let me tell you, the Keeper never had a chance at that one!"

"_Yes!"_ Harry exulted as Moon circled the field again.

"Wigtown in possession now and—wait a minute! Potter may have just found the Snitch!"

He was now streaking down, down, down to the ground; Christopher matched him, clearly thinking Harry had spotted the Snitch. Down went both Seekers to the ground—and Harry was just an inch away from crashing into it before he pulled up at the very last minute; Christopher, on the other hand, did crash into the ground and was thrown off his broom.

The Chudley supporters were cheering again.

"THE WRONSKI FEINT!" Jordan was beside himself with excitement. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I HAVE NOT SEEN THE WRONSKI FEINT IN SANCTIONED BRITISH-IRISH QUIDDITCH LEAGUE COMPETITION IN TWENTY YEARS!"

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!" the crowd began chanting as mediwizards came onto the field to look over Christopher.

"Wigtown free toss!" declared Hooch, and Smith flew forward to take the Quaffle.

"And we're ready to resume play with a free toss to Smith of Wigtown," said Jordan, "and a nice pass to Thomas, but he's blocked by a Bludger and is forced to pass it off… and it's Smith again, and he's charging toward the posts—BLOCKED!"

The Chudley fans cheered as Keeper Ackerley caught the Quaffle and threw it to Dudley.

"And Dudley in possession for the Cannons," said Jordan, "and oh, look at him go! I think he may score—HE DOES! One hundred and seventy to thirty to Wigtown!"

As Warrington threw the Quaffle to Thomas, Harry saw a Bludger come right at Morris, who slammed it in Harry's direction and caught him in the chest.

"AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed as he fell down, down, down out of the air.

"OH NO!" screamed Jordan. "SEEKER HARRY POTTER OF CHUDLEY HAS BEEN BRUTALLY HIT!"

But the Firebolt stopped about three meters above ground, with Harry hanging on to it with one hand. Harry looked around wildly and saw Hermione with her wand: She had cast a Hover Charm on his Firebolt.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I don't believe what I'm seeing!" yelled Jordan. "Just as Harry Potter was about to crash into the ground below, the broom stopped in midair and allowed Harry to hold on! I am speechless! This is absolutely incomprehensible! Quidditch fans and analysts will be talking about this miracle for _years_ to come!"

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!" roared the crowd as he clambered back onto his broom, much to the disgust of Morris, and apparently of Hooch as well, as she flew in alongside Morris, blowing her whistle.

"That is, without a doubt, the most _disgusting_ tactic I have seen in months!" she screamed. "Penalty to Chudley!"

And Boot flew forward to take the penalty, and seconds later had put it past the Wigtown Keeper—one hundred and seventy to forty. From then on, it seemed that the Chudley Chasers got a new spring in their step, clearly spurred on by Morris's foul on Harry, as they scored five more goals in a span of twelve minutes.

"It's Wigtown in the lead, one hundred and seventy to ninety!" said Jordan. "And—oh, dear, it looks like déjà vu all over again as Christopher of Wigtown appears to have seen the Snitch! He's going to try to put the Chudley Cannons out of contention!"

Harry wheeled around wildly and saw what Jordan was seeing: Christopher was indeed going for the Snitch. There was no way Christopher was going to lose twice to Chudley…

Harry gave chase. Christopher was several kilometers ahead of him, but Harry had improved his broom since the last time he faced Christopher, and he was now capable of closing in on him.… If Christopher wanted to take the Snitch, to put Chudley out of contention, he'd have to beat Harry in a fair race this time.…

"And it looks like Harry Potter is gaining on Christopher, not willing to bow out of the playoffs!" Jordan said. "Oh, boy, it looks like this may be close!"

It might have looked close to Jordan, but at this rate, Harry needed a miracle to steal the Snitch from Christopher a second time.…

And just as he was thinking this, Alexander, Hood's Beater counterpart for Chudley, swatted a Bludger right at Christopher's direction; Christopher had to dive to avoid it, leaving Harry alone to get the Snitch for Chudley.

"YES!" he shouted as he closed his left hand around the Snitch.

"Winner!" Hooch shouted. "Chudley Cannons!"

"IT'S ALL OVER! IT'S ALL OVER!" Jordan yelled. "HARRY POTTER STEALS ANOTHER SNITCH FROM SEEKER CHRISTOPHER OF WIGTOWN, THANKS TO A BEAUTIFUL BLUDGER SMASH BY BEATER ALEXANDER OF CHUDLEY!"

And all at once, the entire Chudley team, including the reserve players and Coach George Johnson, took to the air to crowd around Harry.

"WE'RE GOING TO THE FINALS! WE'RE GOING TO THE FINALS!" they all yelled.

"The final score," said Jordan, "Chudley Cannons two hundred and forty, Wigtown Wanderers one hundred and seventy! The Chudley Cannons will face the Appleby Arrows in the final match, as the Arrows have just defeated the Holyhead Harpies, one hundred and ninety to ninety!"

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!" the crowd was yelling as he was being carried off the field into the locker room.

The Chudley Cannons were screaming as they paraded around Harry. Coach George Johnson was blowing the whistle, trying to get their attention.

"Listen up, listen up, listen up!" he shouted to what seemed for several seconds to be no avail, as they continued the celebration. Finally, however, they quieted down to hear what he had to say.

"Don't get too excited about this victory, friends," he said. "Because if I'm not much mistaken, we still have one more game to play!"

At this, they started screaming again, and again Johnson blew his whistle.

"In two days, we got Appleby," he said. "This one's for the Championship. This one we absolutely cannot afford to lose. I mean it. We lose this… we lose everything."

As a result, the Chudley players left the stadium in a somber mood. As Harry took his leave, he found himself accompanied by Ginny and Hermione.

"Harry!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Oh, Harry… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Ginny was sobbing. "I lost!"

"Ginny, the _team_ lost," said Harry. "It has no bearing on your performance. I think you're a really great Chaser."

"_Really?"_ Ginny said, her face brightening as Hermione wiped the tears off it.

"Absolutely," said Harry.

"Oh, Harry…" Ginny said with her blazing look.

"Ginny, darling," Harry responded, and they kissed.

"You were both _great!"_ Hermione exclaimed, but neither Harry nor Ginny seemed to be listening to her; they were lost in one another again, as they usually were when they were so happily in love… Nothing, absolutely nothing else was in existence… For the moment, Harry and Ginny were the only two things that existed, until Hermione yelled, "OI!" at which they broke apart, though still holding on to one another.

"Didn't hear that, Hermione, sorry," said Harry as Ginny laughed.

"Honestly, Harry," said Hermione exasperatedly, "you're worse than Ron sometimes…"

Harry scowled. Ginny, on the other hand, smiled, and kissed him again: Yes, Ginny loved everything about Harry, even his scowl.

SETTING:St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. November 5, 2006.

"Well, Miss Chang," said Healer Pomfrey, "I most certainly can't understand it! Your fast recovery is nothing short of a miracle!"

"A miracle?" said Cho. "What are you talking about?"

"You suffered a neck sprain back on March twenty-fifth in that Quidditch game between Chudley and Wigtown, remember?"

"Oh yes, I remember," said Cho. "But how can I possibly have recovered so quickly? I thought I was going to miss the rest of the Quidditch season?"

"I can't understand it, and I can't explain it!" said Pomfrey. "All I know is, your neck is perfectly fine now, and you're ready for immediate release!"

"Thank you, Healer Pomfrey, thank you!" said Cho excitedly. "I can't wait to tell Coach Johnson!"

And with that, she left Healer Pomfrey completely bemused.


	12. The League Championship

SETTING: Cardiff, Wales. British-Irish Quidditch League Championship. November 6, 2006.

"This is it, folks!" yelled Lee Jordan. "This is what it's all about! One game! There is no tomorrow! This is for the whole mozzarella! For the whole ball of wax! For the whole kit and caboodle! For the whole enchilada! The whole shooting match! This is for all the marbles… the British-Irish Quidditch League Championship! The Appleby Arrows! The Chudley Cannons! Both of these fine teams want to be the winner, but there can only be one WORLD CHAMPION!"

The crowd's roar was deafening in the stadium. The emotions here were in contrast to the emotions in the Chudley Cannons' locker room.

"All right, you guys listen up," said Coach George Johnson. "I know I say this a lot, before every game, and I know it's getting old and you're getting tired of hearing it… but this time, this really _is_ it. This is the biggest one of them all. This is the one game we have _truly_ been waiting for."

There was no eye-rolling this time. In fact, there was no reaction whatsoever. Every single Cannon player in the locker room knew this was the Championship. They knew that this was the last day of the British-Irish Quidditch League season. The last day of the Chudley Cannons.

"I must say this to you all before I send you out into battle against the Appleby Arrows," Johnson went on. "When I woke up on that morning of my first day as coach of the Chudley Cannons, I didn't believe in you guys. I didn't believe in anything."

The silence continued. One could now feel a thrill of somberness all around the locker room.

"But when you guys stood up in that locker room before our first game against Puddlemere United, you gave me back my reason to believe! And when you guys beat Puddlemere United by thirty points, I knew I would be more proud of this team as a coach than I ever was of the Ballycastle Bats as a Chaser!"

"Amen!" cried Keeper Ackerley.

"That is why, at the end of the game, I will not care what the scoreboard says," Johnson said. "I will not care whose Seeker grabs the Snitch first. All I will care about is the fact that when the Snitch is caught, we are going to walk away winners! Every single one of us! We are winners! We choose to win!"

"Tell them, Coach!"

"And there's one more thing I have to say," said Johnson.

"What is it, Coach?" asked Chaser Moon as a gong sounded.

There was a long pause. Finally Johnson said, "I love you guys."

Another long pause. Then Cho Chang started clapping slowly. Gradually she was joined by every other member of the Chudley Cannons team, and the applause grew faster and louder until everyone was applauding their coach.

"Now let's get out there," yelled Johnson over the applause, "and show the Quidditch world what winners can do! Let's go for the Championship!"

Now the Cannons were cheering and roaring. Their din might have been part of the crowd outside. Finally, when the cheering died down, and everybody suited up for the game, Johnson had more words to say.

"Cho!"

"Yes, Coach?" Cho responded.

"You're starting today."

"Starting?" Cho blinked. "What do you mean, I'm starting?"

Johnson shrugged and said, "It's the Championship, isn't it? I have to go with experience."

"No—George—"

"Everybody listen up!" Johnson called. "Game broom, Cho Chang!"

The Cannons cheered again and filed out of the locker room. Cho was left behind, along with Harry.

"Hey—Cho!" said Harry. "I hear you're starting today."

"Yeah," said Cho. "I'm shaking like a rookie."

"I know the feeling," said Harry. "Good luck today."

"You too, Harry," said Cho, and together they left the locker room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Appleby Arrows!" roared Lee Jordan, to thunderous applause and cheering from the Appleby supporters. "And heeeeeere come the Chudley Cannons!" he added as the Chudley Cannon players zoomed out onto the field. "And here's a nice little shocker from Coach George Johnson: He's starting Cho Chang over Harry Potter in the championship game! Cho Chang, the same Seeker who was injured in that regular season game on March twenty-fifth between the Cannons and the Wigtown Wanderers, and was just reinstated yesterday, is being started over fan favorite Harry Potter! This is an unbelievably surprising move by George Johnson, and you have to wonder, does Johnson know something that Fawcett doesn't?"

Nevertheless, the Chudley supporters cheered for their team—apparently it did not matter to them whether Harry was playing or not. They were here to support their team, not just the Boy Who Lived.

"Captains, shake hands!" called Hooch. Chaser Dudley shook hands with one of the Appleby Chasers.

"Mount your brooms!" Hooch said, and fifteen brooms took the air. "On the whistle! Three… two… one…"

She threw the Quaffle into the air and blew the whistle: The British-Irish Quidditch League Championship game had begun.

"And THERE'S THE WHISTLE!" Jordan screamed. "And the Quaffle is taken by Dudley of the Cannons immediately, but he's being heavily contested by all three Appleby Chasers… and he's forced to give it up to Moon, and she's blocked as well, as a Bludger heads right for her, hit by Beater Anderson of Appleby, who was traded by the Wigtown Wanderers before their sixth-round match against the Pride of Portree, who beat Wigtown by the count of two hundred and forty to two hundred after the trade… but that's another story, folks… and Moon has to dump it off… oh, and it's intercepted by Parkinson of Appleby, intended for Boot… and there goes Parkinson going right for the goal—OH, BUT HE'S BLOCKED BY SEEKER CHANG!"

The Chudley supporters roared their approval.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jordan went on, "Chang is playing Quidditch like the days of yore, when men were men and—and—and that's not important either!"

"All right, Cho!" yelled Harry from the sidelines as the crowd roared, "CHANG! CHANG! CHANG!"

"Loose Quaffle after the fumble by Parkinson, and it's taken by Boot of Chudley, and there he goes with Anderson of Appleby on his right and Dudley of Chudley on his left—and he dumps it off to Dudley as Anderson charges him—and he dives out of the way… AND LOOK AT CHANG GO! HAS SHE SEEN THE SNITCH?"

It certainly appeared as though she—and Seeker Perkins of Appleby—had seen the Snitch: Both of them were neck and neck, approaching the same point in space… and then, at the very last moment, Cho swerved out of the way, while a Bludger caught Perkins in the gut and nearly forced him off his broom. Beater Alexander was approaching the point.

"All right, Chang?" he called, and Cho flashed him the thumbs-up.

"DUDLEY SCORES!" roared Jordan, and the Chudley supporters began screaming wildly. "Ten-love, Chudley!"

"Yes!" shouted Harry.

"_Yes!"_ Cho screamed.

"Appleby ready for the throw-in by Parkinson," said Jordan. "And it's taken by Emily Fawcett, daughter of Coach Jeremy Fawcett, which is an extremely rare occurrence in professional Quidditch: Hardly ever do you see a coach's offspring play for the same team the offspring's parent coaches. And, oh, look, she's just scored for Appleby! It's ten-all!"

And Fawcett took a victory lap around the field as Chudley readied for the throw-in by Moon.

"And that's a nice pass by Moon to Dudley—OUCH!"

Dudley had just been smashed by a Bludger.

"Ooh, that stings!" remarked Jordan. "And, boy, I'll tell you, he'll feel that one tomorrow… but he signals he's still good to go, and he passes it off to Boot, who gets brushed by the other Bludger… and oh, look at this! Appleby Beaters Anderson and Jones are both closing in on Boot… this may be an attempt to foul him—OH MY GOODNESS!"

Anderson and Jones were both knocked off their brooms by the Bludgers as Hood and Alexander were closing in.

"Beaters Hood and Alexander for Chudley swat the Bludgers in unison at Anderson and Jones and knock them off their brooms! Let me tell you, people, THAT is teamwork!"

Anderson and Jones were clambering back onto their brooms and rejoining the air. Meanwhile, the Chasers seemed to be confused as each side lost the Quaffle to the other. The result was that Jordan was having a hard time determining who was in possession.

"It's Appleby… no, Chudley… no, Appleby again—no! Chudley's Moon takes it once again… but her pass is intercepted by Fawcett… and Fawcett and Boot are wrestling for it—"

The whistle sounded.

"Chaser scrum!" declared Hooch as she wrested the Quaffle out of Fawcett and Boot's grasps.

The six Chasers lined up for the scrum. Hooch threw the Quaffle into the middle of the formation, and the Chasers wrestled for it again. Then—

"Lloyd in possession of the Quaffle for Appleby after the scrum," said Jordan. "He may score! He fires—HE'S STOPPED BY ACKERLEY!"

Ackerley slapped the Quaffle and shouted, "Try it!" taunting Lloyd, who turned around and flew back to the middle of the field. Ackerley fired the Quaffle to a waiting Dudley.

"Dudley in possession for Chudley following that save," said Jordan. "LOOK OUT, DUDLEY, THERE'S A BLUDGER HEADED RIGHT FOR YOU!"

And at the last moment, Dudley threw the Quaffle away, which collided with the Bludger and sent it into the gut of Fawcett, who staggered a bit but stayed on his broom as his teammate, Henry, a Chaser, seized the Quaffle and flew neck and neck with Moon on his left and Chang on his right.

"Henry for Appleby charging the goalposts, but he's surrounded by Chaser Moon and Seeker Chang, both of whom look ready to block him—and a wild shot by Henry as Chang grazes him—He scores! Twenty-ten to Appleby, and Ackerley never had a chance against that wild shot."

And from then on, things took a downhill turn for Chudley as Appleby scored fourteen more goals through a span of approximately ninety minutes to put them ahead by the count of one hundred and sixty to ten, a ninety-minute stretch during which Cho was starting to have problems with her neck again. Appleby was in possession again with Lloyd carrying the Quaffle, and Cho was giving chase again when her neck gave out again, and she was forced to slow down and allow Lloyd to score.

"One hundred and seventy to ten to Appleby," said Jordan. "And if Coach George Johnson is smart, he'd better pull Chang out now, she can't play with a bad neck like that, just look at her—"

It seemed that Johnson was listening, because at the very next moment, he yelled, "Chang!"

Cho turned around to face the Chudley sideline.

"I'm going to pull you!" Johnson shouted.

"One minute!" Cho said.

"No!" Johnson bellowed.

"I only need one more minute," said Cho.

There was a pause as Chudley's Chasers readied for the throw-in. Then:

"Potter!" called Johnson.

"Yes, Coach?" replied Harry.

"Warm up and get ready to go in," said Johnson. Then he turned to Cho and said: "One more minute only."

The whistle blew, and Cho rejoined the air as Dudley's throw-in was intercepted by Parkinson of Appleby, who then proceeded directly to the goal with Cho on his tail. Her neck gave out again; she slowed down; Parkinson opened up the margin; Cho grabbed her broom with both hands and pursued Parkinson once more before her neck gave out one more time. She stopped, looked wildly around the field, and saw a Bludger heading right for Hood.

"HOOD!" she yelled as loud as she could.

It worked—Hood smashed the Bludger right toward Parkinson, and the Bludger hit Parkinson right in the back and sent him off his broom, screaming as he fumbled the Quaffle.

"AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!"

_CRASH!_

Parkinson hit the ground, sprawled on his back as his broom fell down next to him.

"PARKINSON IS DOWN!" screamed Jordan. "HOOD MAKES THE GAME-SAVING BLUDGER PLAY, KEEPING THE CHUDLEY CANNONS DOWN BY SIXTEEN GOALS! Oh, and I think he may be injured! Yes—there go the Appleby trainers onto the field! Ladies and gentlemen, THAT is a gross example of just exactly how brutal a game Quidditch can be at times! No mercy!"

"WOW!" Johnson exulted as the Cannons regrouped on the sidelines.

"Stick a fork in me, Coach," Cho remarked. "I'm done."

"You gave me ninety spectacular minutes, Chang!" rumbled Johnson. "I'm saving you for the Hall of Fame!"

"No, Coach," said Cho. "I mean I'm done. I felt my neck go."

All the excitement seemed to drain from Johnson's face, and he fell silent for a few seconds. Then he said, "You'll let me finish the season before you take my job, won't you, Chang?"

Cho laughed.

"Hey!" said Harry, and he rushed up to hug her. "You're the best, Cho!"

"Ow!" said Cho. "Argh…"

After which Johnson could not help but smile as he said, "Potter, you're in."

"I'm in?" said Harry. "I'm _in?"_

"WE WANT POTTER! WE WANT POTTER!" roared the crowd, who was beginning to be restless. Harry reached into his bag, pulled out his modified prototype one Firebolt, and mounted it as the crowd now screamed, "POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"

"Do it, Harry," said Cho. "Take it to them."

"Right," said Harry as he took to the air and the crowd began screaming.

Then Harry looked in the audience and saw Ginny winking and waving at him. He could not help but smile: The love of his life had come to see him win the British-Irish Quidditch League Championship.

"AND HEEEEEEEEEERE COMES HARRY POTTER!" yelled Jordan as the crowd continued to roar. "Harry Potter has just been substituted for the injured Cho Chang at the Seeker position for the Chudley Cannons! It looks as though nothing can stop him and the Cannons now!"

_WHAM!_

"OH, NO!" Jordan shouted as Harry fell down, down, down through the air: He had just been hit by a Bludger from Beater Jones of Appleby. Then—

_CRASH!_

Harry and his Firebolt had hit the ground much too hard: Several twigs had fallen out of the broom's tail and were now scattered around the ground.

"Oh, a blatant cheap shot from Beater Jones of Appleby and Harry Potter is down!" said Jordan as the crowd booed. Hooch flew in and blew the whistle.

"Aerial misconduct!" she yelled at Jones as she pulled out the yellow card. "That's a warning!"

"GET UP, POTTER!" Johnson roared.

"Are you okay?" asked Cho.

Harry struggled to get on his feet and onto his Firebolt. When he finally managed it, he said:

"I'm okay!"

"All right!" said a relieved Johnson.

"I'm okay!" Harry said again, and the crowd cheered.

"What do you mean, 'aerial misconduct'?" shouted Jones. "I thought the Quaffle was in play!"

"Not a chance!" Hooch snapped back.

"We're sweating like hippogriffs out here!" Jones said. "I can't hold on to a Beater's club!"

"Off the pitch!" shouted Hooch. "Off the pitch, or I shall have to red-card you!"

"All right, all right, you don't have to suspend _me_ from the league!" Jones said, turning toward the Appleby penalty box and scowling.

"All right, Harry, let's play Quidditch!" said Chaser Moon of Chudley.

Harry started to fly on his Firebolt, only to discover that it had slowed down considerably since the Bludger hit.

"What's up, Harry?" Moon said. "You all right?"

"I'm fine!" said Harry. "I'm fine!"

But he landed his Firebolt and looked at its tail. Horror-struck, he discovered that all of the twigs he had added to make it almost as fast as a prototype three Firebolt, were gone.

"Oh, no!" he exclaimed. "My broom's gone!"

"Oh, no," Ginny moaned.

"Chudley penalty!" screeched Hooch.

"And it's Boot flying forward to take the penalty for Chudley—and he—SCORES!" Jordan shouted. "It's one hundred and seventy to twenty to Appleby, and Appleby back in possession, Lloyd with the Quaffle, ready for the throw-in… and it's taken by Cash, who makes a neat pass to Fawcett on the far side… Appleby playing down one Beater for two minutes after the foul by Jones, so an excellent chance for Chudley on the power play… if they can just steal the Quaffle from Appleby—OH NO, THERE GOES PERKINS! HE MAY HAVE FOUND THE SNITCH! Harry Potter giving chase, but after Jones's Bludger hit on him, he doesn't appear to have any chance whatsoever… OH, WHAT A LUCKY BREAK!"

Perkins was indeed closing in on the Snitch, but at the very last moment, it simply vanished, leaving Perkins utterly bewildered.

"Chudley still alive after Perkins goes for the Snitch and comes up empty… and it looks like Coach George Johnson is hyperventilating."

"Oh boy," said Harry nervously. Catching Hooch's eye, he yelled, "Time out!"

Hooch blew the whistle and called, "Time out, Chudley!"

The players flew back to the sidelines. Johnson, who was indeed hyperventilating, now sounded irate.

"Who the ruddy hell called that time out?" he shouted.

"I did, sir," said Harry.

"What is the meaning of this, Potter?" Johnson bellowed.

"My Firebolt is gone!" Harry said.

"WHAT?" all the players and Johnson yelled in unison.

"No, listen, I can't go fast anymore!"

"Oh, great!" cried Hood.

"NOW what are we supposed to do?" Alexander demanded.

"I have a plan!" said Harry.

"Let's hear it, Potter!" said Johnson, and he and the players huddled up and discussed Harry's strategy until Hooch came forward and blew the whistle, suggesting that the players get back into the air.

"All right, Cannons, hands in!" said Johnson, and they all put their hands into the center. "'Cannons' on three! One… two… three…"

"CANNONS!" they yelled, and Moon, Boot, Dudley, Ackerley, Hood, Alexander, and Harry rejoined the air, accompanied by the six shorthanded Appleby Arrows.


	13. The Moment of Truth

"Moon with the throw-in for Chudley after the time out," said Jordan. "And it's a clean throw-in to Dudley as PERKINS GOES FOR THE SNITCH ONCE AGAIN! It looks as if it's right near the Chudley goalposts, as that's exactly where Perkins is streaking…"

Dudley threw the Quaffle into the air and caught it again. This Quaffle, however, was a fake Quaffle that Moon sometimes carried into games: Harry was holding the real Quaffle behind his back. The Appleby Keeper flew forward slightly: That was all Dudley seemed to need… Perkins was closing in on the Quaffle… he was just twenty meters away…

"Got you!" yelled Dudley.

The Appleby Keeper flew back, but it was too late: Harry pulled the real Quaffle from behind his back and forced it through the side goalpost: The whistle rang out, the Snitch disappeared, and Perkins stopped in midair, cursing.

"THE FAKE QUAFFLE TRICK!" Jordan roared excitedly. "HARRY POTTER ACTS AS A FOURTH CHASER FOR THE CHUDLEY CANNONS AND SCORES A BEAUTY! IT'S ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POINTS TO THIRTY, APPLEBY STILL IN THE LEAD!"

The Chudley Cannons were laughing, the Appleby Arrows were cursing, and the crowd was cheering as all fourteen players retreated to their throw-in positions. Jones was back in the game, as Chudley had scored on the power play.

"Well played, Mr. Potter," said Hooch, "but there'll be no more of that!"

"Right!" Harry said.

"This boy's making me crazy," said Johnson.

"He's making us _all_ crazy, Coach," said Cho.

"Now, Potter!" Johnson yelled. "Get the Snitch!"

But it was easier said than done: Perkins was going for the Snitch again, and Johnson was livid.

"I'll KILL HIM!" he bellowed, and headed toward the middle of the field.

"George, NO!" said Cho as she followed him. "Let him go, let him go! Just have faith, George! Let him go!"

"He's playing suicide!" Johnson said.

Perkins was fifty meters away… thirty meters… twenty meters…

"I'll kill him!" yelled Cho and walked back to the bench, followed by Johnson, who was saying,

"Cho, no! Let him go, let him go! Just have faith, Cho!"

Ten meters… and finally Harry did the only thing he could: He swerved right in front of a charging Cash, who was carrying the Quaffle and streaking toward the goal posts. It worked: Cash slammed into Harry, Hooch blew the whistle, the Snitch vanished, and Perkins stopped again.

"Charging violation!" yelled Hooch. "Chudley Quaffle!"

"Oh, for God's sake, ref, he blocked me!" Cash pleaded.

"Not a chance!" Hooch bellowed. "Chudley Quaffle!"

"HOW THE RUDDY HELL CAN YOU CALL THAT CHARGING?!" Cash started screaming. "YOU SAW IT, YOU SAW POTTER SWEEP RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!"

"I saw what I saw, Cash!" Hooch called. "Now get back in the air, or I shall have to put you into the box!"

"NO, I BLOODY WELL AM NOT GETTING BACK IN THE AIR!" Cash roared. "YOU CALL THIS GAME RIGHT OR SO HELP ME—"

Hooch blew the whistle twice, threw the yellow card, and shouted back at Cash, "DON'T YOU TELL ME HOW TO CALL THIS GAME! TWO MINUTES TO THE BOX! CHUDLEY PENALTY!"

"Oh, and it looks like Chaser Cash of Appleby just tried to tell off our referee, Doreen Hooch, after that collision between himself and Harry Potter, but instead got sent to the box for two minutes," said Jordan, "and so Chudley will once again be on a power play after they take a penalty shot."

"Potter!" yelled the Appleby Keeper. "I'm not going for the fake Quaffle trick again!"

"I don't have the Quaffle!" Harry shouted back.

"And it looks like it'll be taken by Moon," said Jordan as Moon flew forward, carrying the Quaffle, and stopped dead in midair. "Oh—wait—it looks like there's a little hesitation on Moon's part."

Moon and the Keeper faced one another down—and then, suddenly, Moon dropped the Quaffle onto her broom handle.

"Oops!" she said.

"Hey, what are you doing?" said the Keeper.

"I dare you to take it," said Moon.

"WHAT?!" he yelled. "What are you talking about?"

"I double-dare you!" Moon said, and pushed the Quaffle off her broom. It went down, down, down out of the air: The whistle blew, and Hooch caught the Quaffle and returned it to Moon.

"Hey, come on!" said the Keeper. "Let's play some Quidditch here!"

"What's wrong, Elliott?" Moon taunted. "Are you chicken?"

And at once, she began clucking and dancing around on her broom like a chicken, mocking Keeper Elliott and putting him slightly on edge.

"Hey, cut that out!" Elliott shouted, but Moon continued her taunting.

"WHAT IS SHE DOING?!" said Johnson on the sidelines.

"Watch her, Coach!" said Cho as Moon continued to taunt Elliott, stopping briefly to throw the Quaffle up into the air. Elliott moved a meter toward the Quaffle, but then stopped as it fell right back to Moon, who caught it and resumed her taunting. Elliott fell back to the goalposts, where Harry was waiting to taunt him further by clucking himself.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" said Elliott. "Just stop it!" he said as Harry clucked once more.

"You should have gone for it, Elliott!" said Moon. "Dear me, I suppose you truly _are_ chicken!"

"No, I'm not the chicken, _you're_ the chicken!" said Elliott.

"No, _you're_ the chicken!" said Moon.

"I'm not the chicken!" said Elliott.

"Chicken, chicken, chicken!" yelled Moon, and she started clucking again.

"No!" shouted Elliott. _"You_ are the chicken!"

"You're the biggest chicken I ever saw in my life!" said Moon.

"You throw the Quaffle up _really_ high! _I_ dare _you!"_ said Elliott. "We'll just see how chicken _you_ are!"

"All right," said Moon, "but _no more."_

And she gave the "ready" signal to Hooch, who blew the whistle.

"And after a bit of taunting," Jordan said, "Moon finally signals she's ready."

Moon pumped the Quaffle into the air, hoping that Elliott would bite: It worked. Elliott, who never saw Moon pull it back down, flew forward and high into the air: Moon's way to the goalposts was clear. She charged forward and—

"SCORED!" Jordan screamed. "SHE'S SCORED, SHE'S SCORED! ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POINTS TO FORTY TO APPLEBY!"

"THAT'S IT, MOON!" Johnson yelled. "YOU DO IT! YOU DO IT! NO HOLDS BARRED!"

"What a match! What a sport!" Jordan exclaimed. "Throw the rule book out the window, folks, it has just gotten down and dirty. This is EXTREME Quidditch!"

The crowd was now screaming themselves hoarse as seven Cannons and six Arrows retreated to their throw-in positions. Fawcett took the Quaffle and was looking for Lloyd, her only Chaser remaining as Cash was serving two minutes in the penalty box.

"REMEMBER ME, POTTER?!" yelled a familiar voice.

"Oh—my—God—" said Harry.

"Holy goose bumps," said Johnson.

"Not Anderson," said Cho.

"It's Anderson," said Jordan.

Anderson flew forward to meet Harry. Menacingly he punched his palms, one after another, with his Beater's club and said in a low growl, "I'm your worst nightmare."

"Now go for the Snitch, Harry!" yelled Cho. "Take it to them! Take them out!"

"Hawkshead Formation!" yelled Boot.

"Huh?" said Harry, who was in fact familiar with the Hawkshead Formation. He shook his head.

"He can't break through our Hawkshead Formation!" Boot shouted, but made the hand signal for the Porskoff Ploy and winked, and Harry understood: He nodded and lined up with the three Chasers in what appeared to be the Hawkshead Formation. Anderson swatted an oncoming Bludger right at Harry, but at the very last moment, the Chasers shifted to the Porskoff Ploy, and Dudley took the Bludger in the arm.

"Porskoff Ploy?!" yelled Cho.

"Who cares?!" screamed Johnson. "Potter's still alive!"

"Chudley completely fooled him with the Porskoff Ploy!" Jordan roared.

"That's it, Potter?!" Anderson snarled. "What, are you kidding me?! Come on, then! Let's have it!"

Harry looked wildly around to the sidelines and saw Cho and Johnson forcing their forefingers down. Their meaning could not be clearer: Slow as his Firebolt was now, it was time to go for the Wronski Feint. He nodded and began the long dive downward. It seemed as though that was all Anderson needed to eliminate Harry, and he swatted another Bludger at him as he dived.

"Goodbye, Potter!" he roared.

Everyone—players, coaches, and supporters, Chudley and Appleby alike, waited with bated breath.

"Miss," muttered Dudley. "Miss!"

"HIT!" yelled Anderson.

"MISS!" shouted the Chudley reserves. "MISS!"

"HIT! HIT!" cried Anderson.

"MISS! MISS!" screamed Ginny in the stands.

"It's a miss!" shouted Cho.

"It's a hit!" yelled Johnson.

The Bludger was fifty meters away from Harry… forty… thirty… twenty… ten… five… four… three… two… one…

With the greatest effort it had ever cost him, and a long, drawn-out roar, Harry yanked the Firebolt out of its dive at the very last second. It was not a moment too soon: The Bludger brushed his broom tail and finally hit the ground before bouncing back into the air, where it waited to claim its next victim.

"HE MISSED!" roared Cho and Johnson together.

The crowd cheered madly, relieved that their beloved Seeker, the Boy Who Lived, had survived once again.

"You lost, Cho!" said Johnson. "As usual!"

"No, _you_ lost!" said Cho.

Angered, Anderson chucked his Beater's club into the ground; Hooch blew the whistle to stop play while she returned it to him. Cash came back into the air as his penalty expired: Play was now seven on seven.

"Hey, Potter!" Anderson rumbled. "You've got nothing! I know it, and you know it!"

Harry simply stared back at him, though he was now looking somewhat nervous.

"You're dead!" said Anderson.

Harry was all nerves now. "Oh, God," he whispered. "What do I do?"

He looked at Ginny. She appeared sad. He looked back down at his Firebolt and noticed a dark brown spot on the otherwise black handle: It could have blended in with the rest of the handle. Slowly he began to polish the spot off the broom—and slowly it revealed letters.

G.

I.

N.

N.

Y.

Shocked, Harry looked back up at Ginny, who was now smiling broadly. Harry could not believe his eyes.

"Yeah," said Ginny softly.

"_Ginny?"_ whispered Harry. "It was _you?"_

"It was me," said Ginny. "Pace it."

"What?" Harry mouthed.

"Pace it," Ginny repeated. She sighed; Harry smiled; Ginny winked. Harry turned back to Anderson and faced him, still smiling.

"What are _you_ smiling at, Potter?" growled Anderson.

"Nothing," said Harry. "Only your demise."

Anderson laughed maliciously.

Slowly, Harry edged what he now learned was Ginny's damaged prototype three Firebolt toward a flash of bright gold near the Appleby sideline. Harry was praying that Perkins hadn't seen it as he continued on his way.

Anderson and Perkins were looking confused: Why would Harry move so slowly? They began to move forward toward the flash of gold until—

Suddenly, Perkins' face lit up: It _was_ the Snitch! He threw his Firebolt into maximum speed and was now closing extremely rapidly on Harry as a Bludger approached Anderson, who smashed it once again right at Harry, who was now surrounded: On his right was Perkins; on his left, Anderson's Bludger. It looked hopeless now for Harry, looked as though Chudley was dead, was killed by Appleby in their bid for the British-Irish Quidditch League Championship…

And then, just as it seemed that Perkins and Appleby had won, the Bludger took a sudden wild turn away from Harry and smashed into Perkins instead. Perkins fell out of the air and crashed into his own bench: The British-Irish Quidditch League Championship was now his, Harry Potter's, for the taking…

The next thing he knew, both his hands were closed around the tiny golden ball. Hooch blew the whistle for the final time.

"Chudley wins!" she bellowed.

"YES!" Harry screamed.

"YES!" Ginny exploded. "YES! YES! YES!"

"AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!" Johnson roared as Cho hugged him. "I LOVE YOU, HARRY POTTER!"

All of Harry's teammates, actives and reserves alike, were all crowded around Harry, and the Chudley fans were joining in: All had lost all composure and were now screaming like maniacs.

"AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!" bawled Anderson. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he wailed as he began crying helplessly on his broom.

Lee Jordan was jumping up and down like a madman, spilling butterbeer and firewhisky all over himself.

"YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Ron yelled. "HARRY!"

"You're the _greatest,_ Harry!" said Hermione. "The _greatest!"_

"YES, BABY! YES!" exclaimed Ginny, and rushed forward to meet Harry with her blazing look: They kissed for what could have been several precious days.

Finally, they broke apart, and Ginny said, "I love you."

Harry could only smile, and throw the Snitch up into the air. Ginny looked up and reached for it as it fell down, down, down, until—

**Epilogue  
**

"I'VE GOT IT!" yelled James.

The referee blew the whistle and shouted, "Winner! Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindors were screaming their heads off as they crowded around James and began to celebrate his victory in his first match of his Hogwarts Quidditch career: How fitting that he, like his father Harry, won it against Slytherin! And how fitting, too, that both Harry and Ginny had come to see their son win!

"YEAH!" roared Harry. "WAY TO GO, JAMES! THAT'S MY BOY!"

"JAMES!" screamed Ginny. "I LOVE YOU!"

James pumped his left hand in the air: On the ring finger was a ring made of solid gold. In the center of the ring was a bright red ruby. Around the ruby, in block letters, were the following words:

BIQL CHAMPIONS—CHUDLEY CANNONS.

**THE END**

_**A Brandon Taylor Production**_

Text copyright © 2008 by Brandon Taylor.

"HARRY POTTER" and all related characters and elements are trademarks of and © Warner Brothers Entertainment Inc. (s08)

Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K. Rowling. All rights reserved.


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